


Fundamental Cracks

by OnBehalfOfTheBunnies



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 01:12:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 96,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnBehalfOfTheBunnies/pseuds/OnBehalfOfTheBunnies
Summary: The foundation of trust within the team has been faltering. When it breaks entirely between Felicity and Oliver due to circumstances in and beyond their control can they get back to something workable, or is the fundamental base of their relationship damaged beyond repair.Essentially an A/U branching off from near the start of episode 5x20, Underneath.





	1. Shock

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started by popping into my head after seeing the 5x20 trailer. I knew it wasn’t the way it was going to play out, but took those couple fast chapters and have been going with it. As I continued and incorporated partial things from that episode what would be sticking from cannon is that it starts, Team Oliver just having had their confrontation with Temporary-HELIX-Team-Felicity, everyone is in the zone of trust issues. Adrian is at, and set the EMP in, the Arrow Cave, with Felicity as the target, because with the results obviously she was. John and Lyla are due for some confrontation of ARGUS prisoners like he was treated.
> 
> The preview had implied Felicity’s chip got damaged, they were trapped with no communication, and a psycho was on the ready to torment. There was the brief clip of Oliver getting bounced down an elevator shaft, landing in an awkward position. Poached bits later from actually seeing the episode to help move it along until they’re out but after that it’s stream of thought. Doesn’t follow the continuity of the other shows (Flash) because I haven’t seen most of this latest season, and taking the excuse of A/U.
> 
> Unbeta’d so if you spot a glaring error/misspelling (and it isn’t my forcing a word to exist because it sounds correct)/contradiction please feel free to let me know.

After hellish hours, trapped, crippled, taunted by a madman you’d think being in a hospital would be a welcome change. Instead it is its own spiral of damnation. Tubes and tests, begging for information and after a quick useless triage check being ignored while they focus their resources on him.

When he fell…when Oliver fell he was motionless. Broken. Battered. It didn’t matter that Chase made his presence known, didn’t matter that he failed realize after all these years of course Oliver and John would have trained me at least in the basics of archery and guns, and didn’t matter that I eventually buried a bullet in his chest for his crimes.

He caused one man I loved to be killed by this man who I still love. Chase serenaded me with details on how it felt for him to watch that. Forced me to listen to him talk about how sweet it was to hear Oliver and I talk in our stressed hours of darkness about trust and the downfall of our relationship. Analyzing like a psychopathic couple’s therapist, summarizing our words about the lack of trust at the core of our relationship due to our own experiences that couldn’t let the love keep us together. He mocked us, the ‘Of course I love you, I’ll never stop, but this wasn’t working…’ and ‘I know, _I know_ , and I’ll always love you, you’ll always be in my heart…’ A laugh as he prowled towards us, “You trust each other you’re your lives, but your broken little hearts are as fucked up as your heads.“ I tried to shield Oliver’s body from his view; he dragged me away by the hair, my hands clawing at that arm until he grabbed me by the throat and sent me crashing. When he sends a foot kicking out to see if Oliver would stir, that distraction…it was enough that he didn’t notice. Thank god for Oliver and John’s paranoia. I shot him. Not the best shot… but he wasn’t expecting it and I shot that son of a bitch in the back, where the core of his abdomen was a big enough target to hit something vital. He tried to take those last few steps towards Oliver’s body but fell and didn’t get up. I crawled myself back over, grabbing an arrow he had been playing with and stabbing it Norman Bates style into the exposed skin while he gave his final twitches. Only after I was between Oliver and him did I empty the gun into him, making sure he wouldn’t be getting up again.

I’m desperately listening to his breathing, whispering encouragements, only vaguely noticing my hand keeps landing over his heart. Feeling its beat, knowing as the rate changes that my panic is justified.

Oliver is still unconscious, barely taking struggling breaths, when there is a small explosion quickly followed by a figure climbing through the hole in the wall. Part of me recognizes it is a John Diggle sized, sounding, scented-despite-the-overwhelming-gamey-tang-of-blood-coating-us person, but that part of my rationale is buried by the panic of the rest.

I may go a little crazy as they rush to the rescue. I may scream at them when they try to assess us, prying me off and starting to move Oliver out of reach. I possibly rave as John picks him up and rushes Oliver to the hospital. I may even strike out at anyone who tries to help me while he is in sight.

Things go a bit…confusing. I blink and I can’t find Oliver as I look around, just the body of…the body of…that person.

Another blink and I have to feel his heartbeat right now. _I need to know he’s still breathing_.

Someone is touching my arm and it feels like I jump out of my skin. “Oliver?!” The word is croaked. _Why is my voice ragged?_ It’s not Oliver, it’s some lady in white. “I need to find…need to help…”

“He’s in surgery.” A familiar voice says.

 _Surgery? Down here?_ I blink at him as my thoughts swirl in a lazy spin of confusion. “I know you.”

The unfamiliar woman says in an unconcerned voice, “It’s shock, and the medication, just enough to calm her down,” she says it near me, then at me, “calm you down, a bit.”

“Find him! He needs help!” I look around… _We’re not in the tunnels?_

“Ms. Smoak, you’re in shock, you are probably going to have a hard time focusing on my questions but we need to ask them.” I blink and look down at my hands, stained and dirty, dried blood flaking off around the joints. “Can you tell me if anything hurts?” Her hands are cold, pressing lightly against me, searching.

I shake my head.

“You can’t tell me, or nothing hurts?”

“Not hurt. Oliver’s- He-”

“Did you hit your head against anything?”

“He fell…It was dark…so far down, he wasn’t moving, even when Chase…Oliver needs help!”

“He’s getting help, he is in surgery.”

“So much blood…” _Blood is important. Why is blood important? I have blood, he has blood, he needs blood…he has blood, he has blood!_ “You need to get his blood for him.” I stare at John, who for some reason just stands there. “ _Oliver’s blood_ , you can get…cabinets of blood…” the words slip away and I can’t remember how I was going to end that. John blinks, then takes off at a run.

}]}———}>

I am laughably fine. Other than my damaged bio-stimulant not working, which they will surgically remove so Curtis can retrieve the power cell that seems to still be functional, and bruises, lots of big ugly bruises, I can’t find anything really wrong. Ignoring their load of crap about shock, like my people don’t experience worse every night, you can take that ‘shock’ and…I’m _fine_ , which is in extreme contrast to the extensive list detailing Oliver that our friends didn’t think I overheard them talking about, courtesy of a tablet Lyla brought me so I could check on the surgery and quit asking them. Not _the tablet_ , the tricked out HELIX one which Curtis was stupid enough to let ARGUS confiscate instead of hiding it away after he deactivated the lasers, because he still doesn’t know better.  

I spend the night online. Ordering replacements and equipment to upgrade them, the overnight shipping to Curtis cost almost as much as the parts themselves, but I can afford it. I get a “Felicity, what the hell?” call as the sun rises, but he doesn’t protest when I give him a direct list of things to do.

The detectors show the bunker is clear. Someone must have had the utility cut the line and replaced the section of pipe last night. I’d bet the Palmer Tech money on Dinah, everyone else has been at the hospital or dealing with their own burns and strained muscles. That is my cue to check myself out and really get to work.

Curtis helps me, but I try not to make him stretch his arm too much and send him searching for parts I forgot. I’m not the most patient taskmaster and eventually my gophers make themselves scarce.  One major new addition is a larger, better stocked, med bay of our own in the Arrow Cave. The old one proved multiple times to be lacking; this will take care of that. Fuck this whole ‘patch you up on the nearest table or wheeled out gurney’ because there’s not enough space or equipment to do what we need. My eyes keep tracking the dots of blood on the floor that everyone else is apparently blind to, and it takes every ounce of patience I’ve ever had not to scream out demands as they filter in and out with their ‘take it easy’ and ‘you need to focus on healing yourself’ nonsense. They don’t understand, so I don’t bother trying to explain. Instead I wheel myself around and spray and scrub with the mop that was added to Curtis’s shopping list in the moments where I can’t do anything else useful while waiting for things to load or finish installing, I guess this is the rare offshoot of my mom’s clean-when-stressed habits.


	2. Trapped, Less Than 24 Hours Earlier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this has some of the cannon 5x20, and some of the AU I'm making for this. Might just throw all the 5x20/5x20 AU in a chapter of its own at some point, but reading through the partials and notes I've written thus far it feels better interspersed through. 
> 
> Though to be fair that may be because I've binged on the seasons and everyone knows how much Arrow has loved their flashbacks to this point.
> 
> As (basically) always, unbeta'd. So if you spot a glaring error/misspelling (and it isn’t my forcing a word to exist because it sounds correct)/contradiction that is so distracting it begs fixing, please feel free to let me know. Thank you :) (And thank you fanoffic for the comments, they are unnecessary, but appreciated!)

He keeps asking if I’m ok. Then he goes and does exactly, _exactly_ , what is guaranteed to be a bad move. Climbing up an elevator shaft without equipment is stupid, doing it while still dazed from the EMP when a lunatic has booby trapped every other method of escape is just plain idiocy.

Of course it was a trap. Another inch and he’d have a hole punched into his lungs or gut rather than a deep gouge across his side, having landed hard on an exposed bolt.

 “Did that hurt?” I ask, fighting the urge to gag as I get another quick look at the wound, steeling myself. _Don’t lie, you said you wouldn’t lie to me…_

”Yes. Yes it did.”

_Well…good._ _Not the wound, but that he’s still committed to honesty._ I let the nitrile gloves snap loudly as I get them on. “You ready?”

He makes a harsh grunt as I lift the temporary bandage again, the edges trying to stick to his skin with a layer of blood. “You ok?”

“With stitching you up on something that could have been avoided? What exactly are you expecting me to say, Oliver?” _Let’s get this over with._

_..._

The worst part, the one that makes me have to look away for long seconds before forcing myself to finish, is seeing the scratch into his rib bones, a short groove along the edge of that stark exposure.

“If you can’t-“

I manage between dry heaves, “You need…” _Don’t puke. Don’t do it. Don’t you dare._ “…to be quiet…” _Puppies, kittens, bunnies, baby sloths, all adorable and not disgusting things to imagine._ “…unless something’s…wrong.”

 

}]}———}>

 

“I’ve told you before Oliver, don’t talk to me like I’m other people.”

As the stress keeps chipping a bigger headache behind my eyes, my comments get more acerbic. I know it’s not helpful. I _know_ that saying I told you so is the _opposite_ of helpful. I know we’ll figure a way out of here like always… _always, always, always._ I know by the small looks and brief squeezes of his hand that he knows it’s automatic, not meant with the harshness delivered.

After our first huge argument, in the temporary haven from this city that was Ivy Town, the one where we both went to different rooms to sleep because the shared bedroom held too many words flung at each other in anger, we had a long, _long,_ talk. A couple hours of introspection and laying those self found flaws out on the table…we came to certain understandings. I don’t bitch about his sharp, increasingly shorter, outbursts, or his need for physical action to work through things, he doesn’t bitch about my verbal claws hunting for blood.

An agreement, a simple code, ‘Enough,’ and the other’s name means drop it, we can pick back up but for now it’s time to ease off. More importantly “I need some air,” is the stop, stop now, immediately, full stop, you shall not pass public-friendly cue.

_We have to get out of here. Where else is there to try? What might Chase have overlooked?_

 

}]}———}>

 

The hint of sarcasm in his voice, his frustration with my comment, I’m sure compounded by his immediately prior that was reassuring me that he had faith in my own skills “By exactly do you mean exactly?”

_I wouldn’t have said exactly if that wasn’t what I meant._ His quip is just the mindless babble to let me keep talking. So I do as he looks down at me.

“…Please don’t miss.” _Of course he won’t miss, he’s Oliver. Oliver with lightheadedness and bloodloss, because I can see that wound still seeping through the stitches and bandage and shirt…_

He barely aims, just glares at the grate like it is actively trying to keep us trapped down here rather than an inanimate piece of metal.

_“_ You didn’t miss.”

Oliver doesn’t even acknowledge the comment as he goes to see what’s beyond the gap in the wall.

 

}]}———}>

 

He comes back with the climbing gear, and a pack with a handful of small emergency air canisters. I don’t think I have been thankful to the Frogmen, but the fact that we had those left over due to them means this is a fantastic first time to be so. I ignore the look Oliver gives me as I make the praise, then bite down on the mouthpiece, sucking in a single deep breath and holding it. The next breath is the standard toxifying air down here…one more, then back to the oxygen. He is equally conservative with the water bottle sized tank in his hand. There aren’t many, we have to see how long we can stretch them, in case…

_Maybe three breaths between each safe one. Just to err on the side of caution._


	3. Make it Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbeta'd. So if you spot a glaring error/misspelling (and it isn’t my forcing a word to exist because it sounds correct)/contradiction that is so distracting it begs fixing, please feel free to let me know. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Debating whether to do a quick read over what I have and post the next two chapters tomorrow, or work on the future ones instead, guess we'll find out what wins soon.

I only realize I am staring at nothing, lost in the thoughts of the day before when someone sharply says my name, and I’m pretty sure I heard it a few seconds ago too. I look up to the mirror, seeing the concern in his face.

Curtis stands from where he was focusing on the implant site, joints popping. “Are you ok?”

“I…I will be. I just need…” I don’t know what I need.

“Why don’t you get some rest.” He offers an arm, helping me to my wheelchair.

“How does the implant look?”

 “From what I can tell the Palmer Tech power source is fine, the EMP damaged the implant, but I can build another as long as I have this to fuel it.” He types notes based on whatever the things still stuck to my back are telling him.

“It needs to be able to stand up to another EMP, so look into graphene, or shielding, or… How soon?” _There’s so much to plan for this to work, timing has to be perfect._

 “If the suppliers have what I need on hand, if I can manage to proof it…it will take about a week to build, but still I’d need to get the power source out of  the one in your spine before making sure everything will still work and we could get it back in.” Curtis gestures at the monitor that holds a collage of his design schematics, readings from the hospital and his own tests.

Picking at a scab, I stare too. _This has to work, I’ve covered every angle, it has to work_. “I need it faster than that. We can get Cisco to help. Both of you working full speed at it, should take you a couple days tops, right?”

“Felicity,” He gives one of those nervous laughs, like he’s afraid of upsetting me, “I’ll see what I can do, but this isn’t something to cut corners on, it’s your ability to walk.”

I pull the extra shawl tighter, burying my hands under my arms to warm them. “No,” He looks up in confusion as I continue, rushing so he can’t not-hear the logic, “it’s Oliver’s. The Palmer Tech power cell was a prototype, one of a kind with resources I can’t buy and with…with things how they are, resources I can’t have stolen either. So, we have one, obviously implanting it in Oliver would utilize it better than back in me.” _Obviously._

“They have him in a coma so his body has time to heal…but you know th-“ He won’t even meet my eyes in the reflection on his screen, “there’s no guarantee he’ll wake up.”

We both  face off. “Since when are you so damned pessimistic? Is he finally rubbing off on you?”  Curtis’s eyes go wide. _That is not an uncommon phrase! Double entendre be damned too!_ “Until that _doesn’t_ happen I need you to go forward with this. You’re putting it in him-“ _Ugh, come on mind!_ “Giving it to him-“ I shake my head, resetting my wording. “He’s getting it.”

“Even if you wanted to, he’d need to give permission to go forward with the implant.”

“I’m working on that.”

His eyes meet mine, voice wary, “What are you planning?”

“To really, _really_ , piss him off.”

}]}———}>

Removing the device takes a couple hours at the hands of a skilled surgeon, but leaves me with a tiny biohazard bag holding what we need. I cradle it like a baby, a baby in a heavily shielded carrying case, pushing it to Curtis as soon as I’m out of the recovery.

I manage to give a couple minutes of the platitudes and pleasantries then summarily ban everyone else from my room, needing my hours to set things in motion and really not wanting the veiled consolations and time wasting commiserations.

Long minutes pass as I war with myself. _Stalemate_. Wavering, then, entirely willing to blame it on the pain meds, giving in to that ache of temptation and visit Oliver’s room. I haven’t seen him since we were covered in Chase’s blood, refused to go, stayed as far as I could and still do what needed to be done.

He’s so pale, painted and swollen with bruises, The machines display his vitals, but I still can’t quell the itching demand to feather a touch over his heart, feeling the beat around the tangle of wires running under the hospital gown.

_Gather your strength. You’re a fighter, you’ll get through this._

}]}———}>

The good thing about morning surgery is that you can get yourself released and have the rest of the day to get shit done. Having pulled what I needed from the small white box in my closet earlier in the afternoon I knock on the open doorframe.

Quinton looks up, surprised but motioning for me to come in while standing to shut the door behind me, “Felicity, how’re you?”

“In need of a favor.”

I start to unfold the piece of paper, untouched from the chaos of that night, exposing the varied signatures – crisp, loopy, scrawled…one for each of us in smooth black ink. _This is my choice, I’ll suffer the ramifications and consequences._

“Did something happen? They said he was showing improvement?” To be fair, I’ve either been at the hospital or trying to help Curtis, not very social in either setting, so I can understand the assumption.

“He is,” I frown, not having meant to worry him, extending the paper, “They’re probably going to start easing him out of the coma tomorrow if he keeps progressing. I just need you to discreetly get this in the records.”

He takes it, eyes growing wide as he reads the top. “Fel- Is this…?”

“Yep.” I give a ghost of a wry smile, “Happier times, right? It was never filed, and I don’t think Oliver realized…Nevermind. I need it to be official for some wifely privileges.”

“Jesus!” he backs up from me, “He’s doing better, but that’s asking-”

My mind still isn’t working at full speed so it takes me too long into his assumption to remember that my brain defaults to saying things in the worst way and that is how he took it. Then I understand what he’s saying. “Oh! No! Not _those_ wifely, spousal, privileges. No, no, no. well it’s not like we haven’t before- But we don’t do that anymore…” _If you ignore …Focus! “N_ o, that’s not what I…” I move my hand searching for the words as my mind fumbles… _Say he’s in a coma, and I wouldn’t assault him…_ My inner voice turns vicious. _Of course not, I’ll just potentially kill him._

He clears his throat and attempts to finish my sentence, “Want?”

“Want. No, need! I need to make a specific, necessary decision for him while he’s still…While there’s still time.”

He looks down at me, “What is going on in that mind of yours?”

“Working on a miracle.” I drag my thumbnail out of my mouth, realizing I was chewing it down to the quick, “An-And don’t worry, look, the next page is … it makes sure that his…his family would get everything if it doesn’t work. So I need fewer questions, and more action. Which is a poor choice of words considering what we were just not talking about, but please, Quinton, please file it quietly.”

“I just don’t understand what this is going to do to help him?”

“With it in place I can make them do the surgery that’s going to help his back. Oliver Queen has saved this city, as a vigilante and himself, so many times, suffered so much loss…I’m not going to let this be his reward.”

}]}———}>

Curtis is amazing. Twelve hours and it’s ready by the time they’re going to start easing Oliver off the drugs keeping him comatose. I spend the next few hours bullying and bribing my way through phone calls.

When Oliver wakes, it is slowly. He is tired, and confused, and in pain, the mix of drugs they keep him on aren’t any help to the first of those two but dramatically help with the last. The few things he asks are the normal, worried for everyone but himself.

Catching her eye, I motion to Thea to join me in the hall. A few minutes later she follows me a bit away from the room, “This is…there’s something that has a risk, but it’s a bigger risk not to do it. If something happens…” my voice cracks, “If he doesn’t-“ I hand the envelope to Thea, “There’s a copy in the safe near his bow. This one,” I hand her one with a small smiley face drawn in the corner, “is for when everything goes great, if you could give it to him when he wakes back up, it’s something he’ll want right away.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Curtis made something to help Oliver’s back.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!” I am crushed in an instant hug. I’m wound so tight I can barely make the effort to return it, “Why are you acting like it’s not great?”

The worry is masked in my voice, “It’s another procedure, he’s barely out of the coma, making sure he’s able to breathe while it’s being implanted, and then rehabilitation… It’s dangerous and it’s not going to be easy.”

“Have you told him yet? When can they do the surgery.”

“Now, the surgeon is ready and the sooner it happens the better for him. I was hoping to get a few minutes alone before they start getting him ready…”

“Of course! Of course, let me call John and let him know! Does he already know?” I shake my head, and she starts dialing her phone, almost walking right back into Oliver’s room. I clear my throat and she looks from the door to me, “Oh, right. Go. Go tell him!”


	4. Before, Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. My standard line.
> 
> I'm not transcribing out all of what I'm keeping from 5x20, hence the jumps to just include bits of the thoughts I'm putting in her head and changes, plus important deviations. There is more between the last two, but that incorporates in later.
> 
> I did sort of broad stroke cut a lot of the nervous/scared arguments that I had in there, tried to touch up to have them make sense. A plethora of "I'm sorry" if it doesn't right now.

“I think I’m losing a lot of blood…” He talks craziness, and only because of his blood loss do I not call him out on what is a lie, even if he doesn’t realize it right now. _Needs me to know the truth? What the fuck did this psycho convince him of?_

}]}———}>

“Oliver come back! Come back! Oliver- Come back…” I press one hand as hard as I can over his wound, the other frantically feeling for a pulse, a heartbeat, any signs… I sob it, scream it, anything in an attempt to get through, “Oliver! Help me! Please? Oliver, please? Please help…please come back to me…”

}]}———}>

“Felicity I don’t- I don’t know that I can get us out of here.” His voice is full of hopelessness. Defeat.

It wars with my elation that he is awake, that he is up and walking and talking. That I’m not down here with the corpse of the man…of Oliver while waiting for the team to break in and save the day. _Ok, think of snark, get back to normal talk not this- this…_ “Well it’ll give us some time to talk about something. Like this crazy idea that you enjoy killing…”

}]}———}>

The canisters dwindle quickly. I failed to realize they only had, at most, a few minutes of oxygen in each. So as he explores the small room, and determines the only way we can go is back up and hope to find something, I save the last one, and stop using the oxygen I had been drawing from. I start hearing things

Before letting him attempt that… _Don’t call it suicide. Staying here and doing nothing, that’s a guaranteed death sentence as the oxygen runs out._ I scour the plans, unrolling them and moving inch by inch, for any possible things we overlooked the first, third, and fifth times searching. A faint empty area could indicate a possible tunnel under what we’ve made the spare living quarters.

I don’t know how he manages to climb back up the rope, or manages to pull me up afterwards. A handful of minutes and we’re coughing and gasping. He carries me to the wheelchair then uses the handles to steady himself as well as push me while my hands on the wheels help move us forward. When he stumbles I don’t give him a choice, he does take the air I press to him. He takes deep breaths, still leaning and pushes us faster.

We get to the small cluster of rooms and find the hallway door sealed, _meaning_ higher oxygen content. Not perfect but we both suck in lungfulls for too long, until that faint tightening indicates things are going to start to go bad _sooner than ideal_.

Oliver tears open the floor tiles, exposing the large rectangle of mesh. With far too much effort he gets the grating open, I hook an anchor around the support pipe while he drops a chem light down and peers into the hole.

“I…”

“What is it? What’s down there?” I demand when he doesn’t continue. Then he raises himself up, glancing back at me so fast I can tell it wasn’t intentional before looking back at the hole. “It’s a dead end.” Not a question. His face wouldn’t have looked like that if…”They’ll find us. You know the team, they’ll pull it off in the nick of time, pull miracles out of their-“

He drops to a crouch, cutting me off with the pained noise at the position.

“They’ll do it. Trust in them.”

“Felicity…We’re going to die down here.”

“Shut! Up!”  I push the wheels and bump into him, drawing out another hissed noise. “You give them time. They’ll do it.”

He stands and paces, “But if they don’t, there’s gotta be pen and paper around here somewhere, if you need to write anything to them, to your mom…”

“ _Hi mom, Oliver is being pessimistic as usual and is giving up instead of holding out hope that_ -“

“Because hope has done so much for us, right? It’s done such a great job, saving my parents, Sara, Laurel, the city, our relationship- It’s a foot of space down there, then solid concrete. That was our hope, our last chance.”

“Hope and hard work. We’ve done what we can, the team has to be working hard. You just watch, they’ll make it in time. Hope and hard work brought Sara back and then restored her soul. We’ve brought hope, we’ve worked our asses off and we _have not_ failed this city. It brought your family back to you, it expanded those you call family. It let me walk again. Our relationship…Neither of us had good examples of working relationships growing up, we’ve talked about it, there was no saving _us_.”

 “ _We did not talk about it!_ Yes, we’ve talked about our parents, our experiences, but you walked. You just left me- us. When I needed you most there wasn’t a thing I could say or do, you were just so hurt that I didn’t trust you with that, that you wanted to make me hurt just as bad and you walked away. Well congratulations Felicity, you excelled, and now I get to- got to work with you, got to see you…dating, trusting anyone but me with your heart, with what you’re think-”

“You’ve dated too!”

He jabs his finger in the air at me, mouth going into a tight line as he takes a deep breath. “That’s not the point.”

A pregnant pause and he lets the rest of it back out.

I quietly say, “We trust each other with our lives, but we’ve loved and lost, we can’t dare let someone crack our hearts.”

}]}———}>

_Back to this, it will work, there has to be something down there we missed._

“Ready?” Oliver asks, flexing his grip on the rope. I just squeeze my arms tighter once. “On three-“

The blow comes out of nowhere, throwing us, thankfully, backwards and away from the hole. Not so thankfully, backwards as Oliver lands directly on top of me.

Stunned, I can only groan while he rolls off, holding his bloody side while standing, preparing for the next strike. “You ok?” He spares a look at me while searching the shadows.

“Think so.” The words are strained, but the tone is clear. _Focus on the psycho, not me_. There is the smallest whisper of something moving to the right, then they’re fighting in a dark tangle. Wet thuds and gasping. Then Oliver’s near me again. An arrow hits the ground another skitters into the pit, clattering as it scrapes down the wall and hits the bottom. A not so pleasant hint at how long a drop it would be.

“Run.” I whisper, “Go, run, now!” He grabs my arm, starting to pull me to his back when I hiss, “No, _you_ , run. Find how he got in. Get to the team, get help, but get out. Leave me, he’ll follow you, but you can get out. When it’s safe you can come back for me. You need to go. Now!”

A body slams into him, our arms dragging apart as he is flung away. Things don’t go quite to whatever _Crazy_ has planned because Oliver manages to rip the oxygen mask off Chase’s face as they fight into the shadows. Sounds of blows being dealt and pained grunts as they are received fill the small area and I have the options of laying there, helpless, dragging myself towards our potential escape so at least I’m out of the field of play.

A tangled pair of bodies come crashing into view, blood running from cuts, and mouths, and noses. Both wheezing from exertion as much as to get the scraps of breathable oxygen from the air. Chase head butts Oliver so hard they both get dazed. Oliver manages a savage kidney blow but Chase just laughs through it, taking them back to the shadows. More noises, then Oliver comes tumbling, uncontrolled back into the light. I scream his name as he disappears into the hole. Almost immediately a noise of pain, and the sound of his body impacting a wall, another impact, then a muffled landing. “OLIVER!” I drag myself towards the drop. _I have to see him, I have to-_

Chase smiles as he emerges, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve and kicking one of the chem lights down. Peering into the darkness as I pull myself to look. There is a red spot on the wall about a foot down, another on the other side at a sharp angle lower, then at the bottom, a motionless lump of barely lit shadows… _He’s dazed. Stunned. He’s just- He’s- He’s fine, he’s just_ \- ”OLIVER? OLIVER SAY SOMETHING! OLIVER!”

A hand clamps around my mouth, fingers digging in across my cheeks and jaw. “I’m gonna need you to shut up for a minute if you don’t want me dropping you on top of him to stop the screaming. Save it for when I get him to beg.”

I try to bite him, my fingernails digging into any skin they can reach. He only grips tighter, pinning his elbow against my chest while wrapping the rope around his free arm, then we’re falling. The rope pulls taut and he kicks us off the wall, down, down…He drops me the last couple feet, laughing at my shrieking.

I fight through the instinct to lay there, using elbows and hands to drag myself over to Oliver’s still form. I can’t breathe, can’t speak, feeling desperately for a pulse, a breath, anything to show he’s alive. _There!_ A faint wheeze of air past his lips. The quietest hint of a moan escapes.

“Oh no Oliver, you don’t die till I say you can. I have lots more fun planned for you.”


	5. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels slow but I want to move on to the other chapters I've written rather than edit down (at least for now), sorry, the next few should be better.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

I knock on the doorframe, and he slowly looks over from where he’s focusing out the window. “Hey.” My voice cracks, seeing him like this. It’s worse than when he was in the coma, when he just looked sick and asleep. Now, seeing him struggle to turn because a piece of shattered bone nearly completely severed his spinal cord, the wound higher than my own, and the prognosis … _Doesn’t matter, the new and improved implant will make him good as new, better than ever… Can’t stop this now._

His quiet voice is rough, “Hey. I- Thea said you…” His eyes, glazed with pain and wariness, scan me, lingering on my wheelchair, then choppily working up.

He hesitates, after opening his mouth for words. I know what his first question will be anyways, even before he asks it, “Are-?”

“-you ok?” I finish the words with him. “Yeah, of course. As always. But I’m not the one who pinballed down a-“ I wince, hearing the noises of impact in my memories, running a hand over my face I try to scatter those thoughts. “I’m not the one who was,” I finger quote, “ _unconscious_ for three days.” A hard push has me rolling over to him, carefully navigating around the cords and equipment I rest a hand over his heart. He doesn’t protest, just presses his hand over mine for a few seconds. Feeling the steady beat soothes something that had flitted around under my skin in panic in the time I avoided this room.

Oliver hesitates at a pained motion, then stays just shy of touching my face, “Your mouth, it’s…it’s…” He closes his eyes, trying to find the words. The pain meds are likely keeping his brain at least a little foggy beyond the swelling.

“You guys aren’t the only ones who need war paint sometimes.” I knew even with my best makeup concealment he’d notice the still swollen, still bruised, handprint stretching from cheek to jaw across my mouth. He seems to have a built in sense of when I’m trying to hide something from him.

A nurse bustles in with a small cart and I jerk backwards, guilty as she chirps out a route pleasant greeting. _I don’t deserve this. These small comforts are not mine to take. He is going to hate me when he finds out everything and this is just selfish._  I had talked to the scrubs clad woman before my brief words with Thea, so her arrival wasn’t unexpected, but things are going to start moving quickly. Hopefully quickly.

“Ready Mr. Mayor?” She asks in a truly warm and optimistic tone. Oliver glances over at her as she pushes something into his IV drip after my nod. His gloom-glare is less effective when he looks like a kicked puppy, but the nurse doesn’t show any hint of being scared off, murmuring a “Poor dear,” as she discards the needle into the brightly colored sharps container. Cheerfulness returning, “There you go. That will start kicking-in in just a minute, and then before you know it, you’ll be feeling _so_ much better.”

We are silent as she trashes her gloves. I turn as she’s leaving, wearing a masking smile that I can feel crumbling at the edges as the process gets rolling and make sure to say, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” She says, like it’s a normal thing, “just page if you need anything in the meantime. Someone will be here to move him in about five.”

“I remember, thanks again for being so understanding, with…with everything.” There’s another reassurance as she gives us our privacy, following my earlier request for this to be fast with as little discussion as possible because of my white lie about ‘his anxiety about back injuries,’ the door clicking shut behind her.

“Wh-“ He coughs a painful noise and my eyes go to the monitors to make sure everything is still in normal range before looking at his face. “What happened?” The rawness in his voice cuts me.

My hand follows his line of sight, touching just above and behind my shoulder. The skin is swollen and achy. How I got that is a memory best left unvisited right now. “It’s nothing, just a bruise.” _It is a bruise, that’s not a lie…only the ‘just’ rings false._ I have been able to convince the others to back off me for the most part, and wearing my hair down, and makeup, and long clothes has helped to make things easy to overlook in my need to get them to focus on doing what I need. So of course, _that_ particular mark would be the third thing he just _had to_ focus on, behind only my wheelchair and the grab and drag handprint.

“Those are– Felicity, what…I can’t- what happened?”

“It wasn’t- it’s _nothing_ , just a bruise, can barely feel it.” _Every waking minute._ I give him a pointed look to drop it.

“What happened?” There is exhaustion to his voice as he fights to ask again.

Then it occurs to me, “Oh! You’re talking about in general? What do you remember?”

His hand, which had briefly been reaching towards me, lands back on the bed, “Felicity- I…I can’t…you were helping…you were doing something bad, then…an explosion?“

_Ok…Short and sweet, just the general things._ “HELIX, I helped HELIX free someone to get traction on finding Chase.” I rub over part of the wheelchair, keeping my hands off him. “He had set a trap, an EMP to take me, and our computers out…He sealed us into the-“ _Don’t say Arrow Cave_ , “bunker. We argued.” _If you want to call savage accusations and frustrated verbal sparring, strike for strike until we both were bare in the early hours as we searched for an easy exit_. “We talked. Kinda worked out some of our trust issues,” _Kinda made some things worse,_ “We almost suffocated twice-“ Laughably broad strokes of the hours we were trapped. “Then Chase showed up…”  

He is all attention, his features tense in an attempt to focus. “Chase?”

“Did they- Did Thea tell you-“ Having to clear my throat to get it out,  admit to my murder, “Chase is dead.” His eyes tighten, pained, and I push on quickly. “It was a surprisingly easy thing to get cleaned up. Ex DEA psychopath hunting down the mayor and his…William-“

His vitals jump, even with the drugs kicking in, “William?”

“Is safe. I don’t think the others realized- Chase apparently had found them, had creeped him out, but hadn’t touched him or Samantha.” _Yet_. _He hadn’t touched them yet, but he’d planned to use them._

 “Chase-“

 “Got what he deserved for what he put us through. He was going to torture you, he was going to…it doesn’t matter. He’s not a threat to anyone anymore.” I say it with such finality the room is silent apart from the machines for a long minute.

“What…” He blinks hard, trying to shake his head to clear it, “trouble have you been getting yourself into?”

_Tell him. Just tell him the truth._ “Some tinkering with Curtis, little paperwork, harassing my surgeon to stick around for a few more days before making his way back home so we wouldn’t have to wait.”

“You two,” He pauses for a few seconds, pulled off track when we both realize I was squeezing his hand only when I pulled mine away again, “repaired the implant? “

“We’re super geniuses, of course we did. Just a few upgrades and modifications to better suit its new purpose.”

“New purpose?”

“Needed it to be more durable, shielded so another EMP couldn’t take it out. The power supply was the last key element, once the old implant was removed it could be transferred to the new one without issue.”

“So when do they put it back in you.”

“They don’t.”

He thinks too hard at that, starting, then stopping, “You just said you fixed it?”

“Correct, but it’s one of a kind, so it’s not for me.”

Oliver looks at me like I just told him one plus one equals kiwi. “Who else would it be for?”

I let my fingers move, and lace with his, smiling sadly because I know how… _how frustrated_ , he’ll be when it sinks in. “Someone who needs it more.” It’s obvious when the pieces of my vagueness click into place. “What…? Don’t. Felicity you can’t do this, I won’t let you, it’s your chip.”

“Implantable bio-stimulant-“

“You can’t-”

“-and as I said Curtis helped tailor this one for you.”

“Felicity, -”

“I love you, I will always love you, even if this is a gross violation of the trust we talked about... “ _Not that you remember that argument,_ “But _you_ need to let someone to _help you_ for once, and at the moment I have certain power over your medical decisions while you are not of clear mind.” _Just let him know. He’ll have to take care of it later. Because there will be a later, this will work, and he’ll get better._

“What are you talking about? Thea has…”

“Thea doesn’t have. How are those meds treating you? Starting to feel tired again? Heavy limbed?”

He shakes his head, like he can deny it out of existence, but flinches at the edge of the motion, “Ex-“ Oliver does it again anyway, “Explain!’

“You won’t think it’s funny…because it’s not, of course…and again there are some trust things you’re going to remember later, so I’d rather not do this right before-“

“Felicity!”

Sarcastic humor is my automatic shield, “Well, you see, when two people love each other very much, and want to spend their lives together, they fill out some forms.”

His eyes look from my face to where I rummage through the paperwork in my purse, “I don’t-“

“And when those and another form are signed by witnesses and an officiant,” Who liked to ramble on as she had shoved the envelope under the stall at me while I peeled myself out of the dress, but apparently stayed true to her promise of silence since then, “even if it’s for a bait wedding that is disrupted by one of the, _apparently many_ , arrow shooting crazy people in our lives.”

“But we didn’t finish…” He’s obviously trying to remember if we did finish that wedding

_…What other memories might be out of reach for him right now?_ “We _all_ signed the dotted lines. So, um, surprise… Mazel Tov!”

He does a slow blink, a faint tic at his jaw, “We’re not married. That was not our wedding.”

“Sure it was. A small ceremony, just a few of our friends, no caterers, beautiful venue just like we had planned, I was even able to walk down the aisle. Granted I was pretty upset with you before you went and…you really have a way with words when you actually use them, thank you for keeping that vow and not lying to me when you could help it since then. And you didn’t get the honeymoon I’m sure you were expecting-“ _Quit babbling!_

I pass over the copy of the marriage certificate, “Quinton filed the original a couple days ago. We finished enough of the ceremony that she completed her part, passed it off to me in the bathroom so we could file or redo…The fake was valid. Now that it’s on the record we’ll probably need to- you will have to redo your taxes.”

He takes it, eyes scanning the page, using his finger to keep track of his place as the paper wavers, “Are you…is this a joke?”

“I, of course, collect things, you should have seen my Pokémon-“ I shake my head, “Never mind. You’re body is struggling, it’s not just the walking, it’s your organs functioning. You’re dying without it, so even if you hate me for it,” a nervous laugh escapes. _How much longer until he’s under?_ His hands shake with the effort to keep reading, but still sink to his lap “Before you can file the divorce proceedings,” I watch his eyes fight closing as the dose the nurse put in the drip works through his system, “I’m not going to let you suffer because of your self-sacrifice hard-on. My ability to walk or your life, it’s not even a debate, and as your wife, while you’re like this I have medical power of attorney to make it happen. Now I know PT will be hard-“

His voice is slow, slurred, “We’re married?”

“-and I tried not to let you see how much it hurts, but you’re the strongest person I know.” I hesitate, but still put my hand over his anyway. “I know this is yet another breach of trust…the divorce papers are ready and just waiting with Thea for your signature. She doesn’t know what’s in the envelopes so you don’t have to let anyone else know, Quinton is as chatty as the Royal Guard so it’s safe with him.”

“Don’t… do this.”

“I even marked off the adultery on my part for my relationship with Billy, so if your electorate ever gets word they can’t possibly blame you.” An inappropriate choked laugh escapes me at the thought, as I keep ignoring his protests. _How funny right? I move out of a relationship with him, straight to someone who does Oliver’s night job for a living. He was wonderful, but…”_ Oh, more importantly Thea also has the pre-nump that will make sure your assets go to her and your son if anything goes- but it won’t.” _It won’t! He’ll be fine. Good. Great._ “The surgery will be fine, and you’ll be fixed, and everything will be…You’ll be in the best hands. They’re the ones who did my insertion and removal.“

“Won’t let…Feli- You need…my…”

“Too late. It should be pretty quick, and I’ll be gone before you wake up…I, I rebuilt and secured the system down in the Arro- the bunker while you’ve been-, so when you’re all better you can…”

I kiss my fingers and press it to his lips as his eyes blink closed and stay that way. I’m not able to lean over with the bed so high relative to my wheelchair, “We’ve got this chasm of trust and relationship issues from both our pasts, we just can’t seem to bridge it enough to make us work, but I’ll always love you, and always, _always_ , wish the best for you.”

There’s a knock at the door, Thea peeks her head in, “He’s already out?”

“Yeah, just went down.”

She gives me a hug, “Was he amazed at how awesome you are?”

“He was _so_ surprised!”


	6. Foundations Crumbling, Days Ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd. Bit of repetition while expanding a little more of the 5x20 alteration.

_Days ago…_

More noises, then Oliver comes tumbling, uncontrolled  back into the light. I scream his name as he disappears into the hole. Almost immediately a noise of pain, and the sound of his body impacting a wall, another impact, then a muffled landing. “OLIVER!” I drag myself towards the drop. _I have to see him, I have to-_

Chase smiles as he emerges, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve and kicking one of the chem lights down. Peering into the darkness as I pull myself to look. There is a red spot on the wall about a foot down, another on the other side at a sharp angle lower, then at the bottom, a motionless lump of barely lit shadows… _He’s dazed. Stunned. He’s just- He’s- He’s fine, he’s just_ \- ”OLIVER? OLIVER SAY SOMETHING! OLIVER!”

A hand clamps around my mouth, fingers digging in across my cheeks and jaw. “I’m gonna need you to shut up for a minute if you don’t want me dropping you on top of him to stop the screaming. Save it for when I get him to beg.”

I try to bite him, my fingernails digging into any skin they can reach. He only grips tighter, pinning his elbow against my chest while wrapping the rope around his free arm, then we’re falling. The rope pulls taut and he kicks us off the wall, down, down…He drops me the last couple feet, laughing at my shrieking.

I fight through the instinct to lay there, using elbows and hands to drag myself over to Oliver’s still form. I can’t breathe, can’t speak, feeling desperately for a pulse, a breath, anything to show he’s alive. _There!_ A faint wheeze of air past his lips. The quietest hint of a moan escapes.

“Oh no Oliver, you don’t die till I say you can. I have lots more fun planned for you.”

Chase teases my name. “Felicity. Ms. Smoak. Fi. Liss. Ti. They just don’t roll off the tongue like Overwatch, how about I call you Smoak. You’re all smoke and mirrors; your tricks always from behind that screen. Imagine my surprise when you went and managed to screw up this nice little bit of planning. You were supposed to be alone. Take away your toys, your friends, your mobility, and see how fast you break. Would it take a week like he did? I even managed to find a batch of vertigo to make things more interesting. Imagine of how it would have hit him.” He makes a sound of savoring the thought, “Knowing you were down here, helpless, just like him, when he finally could get to you, broken, or lifeless…”

Chase grabs back onto me, and throws. His voice is playfully singsong, “Hey Romeo, don’t want to leave your Juliet hanging.” _Oliver. Oliver. OliverOliverOliver!_

A barely breathed groan from where the chem light fell, “F-lici…?”

“There he is!” There is glee in his voice at Oliver’s response.

Crawling on my arms to get to Oliver, trying not to move him, trying to do something useful, but all I can do is block Chase from looking at him with my body as the shield. That tone is back, “Oh no Ms Smoak, star crossed lovers are always separated by immeasurable distance.” He strides over, kicking away Oliver’s bow, I am lifted up by his hand across my face, his fingers digging roughly into my cheeks and jaw. He jabs back with things we said, earlier… _How long was he listening? Has he been right here the entire time? Was he just watching to see if we’d die or escape?_

A falsetto to mock me, “… _this wasn’t working_ …” A soft rasp that sounds nothing like Oliver, turning into the song refrain“… _I’ll always love you_ …” He says more but all I can focus on is Oliver, staring blankly up at where I’m held in place. I am dropped, then am being dragged by my hair. I claw his arm until he grabs me by the throat. Twisting I strike out as best I can but it isn’t good enough and gets me a brain rattling smack to the side of my face. “You think you have anywhere safe from me? Your homes, your work, all your bases, I can be anywhere.”

My mind does an unwelcome panicked repetition of the _All Your Base_ rather than thinking of something helpful.

_Oliver! Oliver please!_

He throws me to the far side of the room before crouching back down by Oliver’s body, taunting, “So good of you to do the ‘I love you’s, it’ll make this hurt that much more.”

I feel around, searching for anything. Behind me, the bow. I grip it tight. _The arrows, one has to be around here, just one, please…_ It takes seconds but it feels like hours until my fingers skim across the familiar shape.

 “Oliver, the dance has just begun…you know who I found the other day?” There is no response, “Come on, you have to play the game. You’re not gonna die until I say you can, and that’s only happening when I’ve destroyed everything you love, including this little fella.” He holds up a phone, scrolling through images. “Took this one yesterday, we’re becoming friends.”

He croons and shouts at Oliver, whose eyes flutter, fighting to open, failing as his head lolls back.

I stay silent as I prop myself up and pull back the bowstring. _Did he really think all these years and I wouldn’t at least practice to use the arsenal? I’m not a great shot, but I’m not missing at this distance. Take a breath, aim at his core, let go with an exhale in three…two…one._

He makes a strangled noise, dropping. I crawl over to him, grabbing his gun and following the strike, emptying every chamber into his chest. I lose myself for a moment of screaming and crying. When I focus on something…Red...I reach towards…”Oliver? Oliver please?” his eyes open once. He’s breathing but that is the most positive, only positive… I’m sobbing, rocking over him, trying to hold the deepest wound closed enough to stop the bleeding, hysterical…

}]}———}>

Desperately listening to his breathing, whispering encouragements, only vaguely noticing my hand keeps landing over his heart. Feeling its beat, knowing as the rate changes that my panic is justified.

Oliver is still unconscious, barely taking struggling breaths, when there is a small explosion quickly followed by a figure climbing through the hole in the wall. Part of me recognizes it is a John Diggle sized, sounding, scented-despite-the-overwhelming-gamey-tang-of-blood-coating-us person, but that part of my rationale is buried by the panic of the rest. I shriek at them when they touch me, scream even louder when they try to touch him, when they take him from me I go out of my mind, at least for a bit...


	7. Pins and Needles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd.  
> If you're a child, go read elsewhere, if it's not clear by this point - it's not for you.
> 
> And just realized A03 doesn't keep the indent, so rather than look up a solution - fast change of what I would indent (mixed in flashbacks are italicized & viewing through media has italics for emphasis) is now aligned right.

The surgery is going well…it will probably take weeks at best to know if it’s a success, but the implant went in easily. A hypnotically gruesome close up of the action plays in front of me from the comfort of my soon-to-be-former home thanks to the idea to record the experimental procedure without realizing it was a wi-fi enabled camcorder. They had managed to remove the stray bone shard before easing the fingernail sized miracle into place.

I don’t move, barely blink, watching until the last stitch is complete. It may be the amount of caffeine I’m on to have basically kept moving non-stop, and lack of sleep because of what I see whenever I close my eyes, but my squeamishness of blood and needles is buried so far under concern that I didn’t even feel queasy as I watched them cut through flesh and bone to get to the necessary site. The stitches are so much better…faster, smaller, neater, tighter, than the ones I’ve done over the years.

There is no way I would dare join them in the post-op recovery room, but you can bet your ass I hack the security camera and Thea’s phone to continue my spying. Listening in on headphones while putting things in boxes, checking at each small noise that isn’t obviously my friends.

Most of my clothes had already been packed up and brought down here so I wouldn’t need anyone to help me up or down the stairs…or attempt the crawl again, so it’s just combining and folding fit them in fewer containers, but that doesn’t take me long. The box of bathroom contents had scattered across the bathroom floor with a stray jerk as I painfully concealed the bruising, and in this chair there’s no easy or worthwhile way of picking them up. _It’s replaceable. Everything is replaceable._ _Why isn’t he awake yet?_ Small mementos and picture frames within reach are next.

 I thumb the toy appliance that was hidden in a decorative box, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand but immaculately decorated to mimic the real thing. Our good times…

_Oliver laughs as I steal the spoon, tasting the gooey mix of white chocolate and liquor he concocted into a fondue. He taps it, so I end up with a smudge on my chin, “Oops.”_

_“Not cool-“ My mock chastisement turns into a shriek of his name as he does it again and it drips down my collarbone._

_“Oh no, let me help.” The playful, carefree, Oliver is still something rare, but our travels and this new start in Ivy Town is working miracles. He swipes his tongue over the sweet mess. “Can’t let you go to the picnic like that.” He gives me a soft kiss then licks his lips, toying with the top button of my shirt. “What would the neighbors think?”_

_“Mmm… stop or we’re going to be late.” A make sure to sing-song the last part._

_“We said we’d tryyy to make it.” He keeps slipping open buttons, peppering kisses on the skin that’s exposed._

_“Oliver…” I can’t help that it sounds more like a moan than a protest._

_He looks up, hands resting just below my waist, “You want me to stop?”_

God he looks sexy like that. _I wrap my legs around him, giving into the temptation, “I want you to be fast.”_

_He tugs my hips so I’m sitting at the edge of the countertop, helping ease me to my back and carefully nudging the slow cooker further away. “Fast?” His body presses forward against mine and we share a kiss. The hardening length of him grinds against my core, the buffer of clothes is sure to be a momentary problem._

_I quickly nod into the kiss smiling, “Fast.”_

_He laughs against my lips when I arch up into him. Oliver’s fingers slip under fabric and find the evidence of how ready I am. His hand stalls and he makes one of those wonderful short, low, exhales. Circling his thumb makes me squirm. “Not_ too _fast…?” I steal another kiss whispering my agreement and he breaks the kiss to beam a truly delighted smile at me. “Good.” Then that delicious heat, those talented fingers, that beautiful man is pulling back despite my protest._

_He takes the rapidly cooling spoon, still half coated and spreads an ivory trail down my body, then hikes my skirt and lightly smacks against the inside of my thigh._

_…Minutes later my skin has been licked clean and his mouth is sealed as tightly around my most sensitive part as my thighs are squeezed around his head as he draws every quaking cry out of me._

_…A few more minutes later I am pinned against the countertop by his thrusts, my hands gripping tight in his slightly shaggy hair, not letting him escape from the boozey chocolate and me flavored kisses as his control breaks and it’s his noises filling the house._

_…We’re not_ too _late to the block picnic._

_A couple days later a small ceramic slow cooker shows up on my pillow. Then of course-_

The memory crumbles apart as Thea starts talking to him. _Is he-?_   No, she’s talking to herself.  Trying to convince herself that everything will be ok. I shove the thing back in its box and bury it deep in my main suitcase. _Now is not the time to be thinking about Ivy Town._

_Go. Go now and beg, not on your knees because then you’d just fall over…Beg and he’ll forgive you when he wakes up._ The squished down hopeful, greedy, part of my brain tries to tempt me. The exhausted, pessimistic part will have none of it. _How could he? And how dare you! Trying to ease your guilt by tricking someone in pain? This is your fault._

I grab the next thing on the shelf and end up knocking something over. Not something, _the_ thing. The bullet that had crippled me. I thumb it, getting no reassurance from the fact that its small twist of metal is no longer inside my back.

_Chase makes a strangled noise, dropping. I crawl over to him, grabbing his gun and following the strike, emptying every chamber into his chest. I lose myself for a moment of screaming and crying. When I focus on something…Red… I reach towards…”Oliver? Oliver please?”_

My hands shake, aching like the kickback is still rocking through them. _I killed him. I’m a killer._ That angry bitter part of me hisses. _You already were a killer. You really think one person forgives you and it makes up for an entire town of deaths? That everything was better? That you’re a good person? Not just them, over and over you’ve demanded he kill for you, you think Oliver will ever forgive you for that? You think he loves you for that? Bloodthirsty hypocrite. It’s your fault he’s in the hospital. You couldn’t just wait to try out that new program, wanted to be the hero. You couldn’t go in when you knew you’d be alone, couldn’t have figured out a way to develop something like that yourself?_

“Stop it.” I whisper to myself. The spot the implant was removed from throbs so bad my back threatens to spasm. Going through the controlled breathing exercises, bolstering with a shot or three, I scoop the whole shelf of things, including the bullet, into a box and slam the lid shut. _Do something useful before you go run away. Like you always do._

Pressure throbs behind my eyes. “Sleep or more caffeination?” I ask myself rhetorically and op open another energy soda. The sugar and caffeine has been less and less effective as I quit allowing myself even 20 minute naps. When I finally crash…I’m going to crash hard, so I need to be done and gone before that happens. _And he needs to wake up!_

Another wave of dizziness sends the room spinning. My nails dig into the sides of the wheelchair as if I’m clinging to the edge of the Earth until I stop feeling like I’m going to be sick. I _know_ it’s a concussion that keeps bringing those unpleasant flashes, and I _know_ I should be doing the opposite of what I am, but who can take things easy at a time like this? I’ll be able to after he’s awake. I’ll have time for sleep after he’s awake. I’ll have time to focus on everything that happened this week. _Right now I have a job to do…Job. Money. Take care of the money._

I keep busy, transferring some of my golden parachute to a couple CD Ladders, for my mom, just to make sure if I end up so busy I forget to sneak some money into her account she’ll be ok while I’m figuring out what to do next and trying to sort myself out. I stare at the large balance…a couple clicks and about half moves to be similarly snuck into the team accounts. _For equipment, medical…funerals._

_Quit thinking like that._ Needing more to do I type out an email to Curtis, let him be the messenger, a general ramble telling him I’m taking a sabbatical, getting away from all this for a while, coming to terms with my limited mobility, need to take down HELIX, lots of love all around, details on how to secure any new system they put in the arrow cave, the best tips for Oliver’s PT while getting used to…

I add two more false trails to my vanishing plans. _The last thing I need is to have to continue this dance of lies and half truths with them. Go. Sort yourself. Then beg forgiveness. And beg. And keep begging._

_Is it really taking this long? Oliver I need you to hurry up and be awake already._

As if on cue his sister makes a noise, and I turn to the screen in time to see a fast movement.

“Ollie? You have no idea how happy I am to see that frown, let me page the nurse.” She reaches over and presses a button. He tries to move and flinches “Ollie, it’s ok, you’re safe!

“…What…?” obvious confusion is on his face. “Where…am I?

“In recovery. The doctor said the surgery went really well, _amazingly_ well, because the injury was so recent it can heal in and with the upgrades Curtis made you might be able to feel it working in days!”

“Curtis…? Felicity! Where is Fel-?” he makes a pained noise, arms straining in what’s likely an attempt to sit up.”

“Take it easy, you _just_ got out.” She shuffles in her purse, pulling out the two envelopes, “She had told me you’d want this right away, crap, which one…” turning them over and obviously not seeing the mark.

A nurse swoops, knocking on his door at the same time my doorbell rings, making me jerk away from the screen, startled.

 “Just a minute!” Ok, set the email to send in the morning because if that’s Curtis it would be real awkward to deal with him reading it while standing in front of me _… aaaaaand, we’re good._ I set the laptop to power down so he can’t see that I was spying, and wheel myself over.

“Hey…” It’s not Curtis. I wish it were Curtis. At the ARGUS uniform and serious expression my words speed up, “I had a feeling you guys wouldn’t be too happy with me after…” Nervous laughter from days of being wound too tight accompanies an attempted a small smile that is 100% not reciprocated, “I, uh… I locked that access down, HELIX would have a bitch of a time trying to get back into the ARGUS system…I don’t care how good that guy is, I’m-, I’m-, I am awesome at-“

“We can do this the easy way or the easier way, it’s your choice Ms. Smoak.”

_We?_ I glance around and notice shadows at the windows. _Crap._ “What exactly would those be?”

“You come with us, or I have someone pick you up and leave the wheelchair.”

Tightening my grip on the wheels I fight the urge to inch backwards, barely, “Guess I’m easy, I mean easy to pick up,  I mean-“ He nods at something behind me. “Just let me talk to Lyla, she’ll-“ As I start to turn a sharp pinch stings my neck and dark fabric is shoved over my face. My words slur but I try to get them out, “Lemme ta…Ly…she…” The darkness swallows me into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters posted on what is now yesterday, so hopefully will read over the next and have it up on Saturday. It's the one I started with, *the* scene that popped into my head after seeing the preview for 5x20 and made me work towards it, so it might take a little longer to look at critically. Thanks for sticking with me thus far.


	8. Later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part (Later...much) is the very first scene/chapter/portion that popped into my head after seeing the preview for 5x20, figured I would add just a bit of things before that to help sort of form an idea of what's been happening rather than expecting people to just accept that a lot of time is skipped and making up in flashbacks later. Originally I was going to start the fic with it, who knows, after I've finished up and start going through everything again I might revise it to do so.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Thanks for reading.

_Later…_

I open my eyes and groan. The room is white. Not shades of white, not painted white, _white_. It is maybe ten feet square of stark matte white floor, ceiling, walls, door, sink, table, everything…bathed in high wattage white light.

“Oliver?” I call out, confused. “John?” Still no answer, “Guys? Anyone?” _When did I fall asleep?_ My neck is so stiff I must not have moved at all between then and now. Trying to stretch…fails.

I look down my body and the unfamiliar beige outfit. _Why aren’t my legs…_ Memories start to click into place.

Chase.

Oliver.

_Oliver._

_He had…he had been waking up._

“Lyla?… ARGUS guys?”

There is no answer. There is a basic wheelchair, and it takes some maneuvering but I use it to explore the small room while waiting. There is a small window in the door, and I can see what looks like someone standing guard outside. They don’t respond to my questions or knocking, which after some unknown amount of time become yelling and banging.

There’s nothing to do but dwell in my own thoughts and worries. I wait, and wait, worry, sleep, roll the room, meditate, fill my stomach with water from the sink, and wait some more. One of the times I wake up there is a small baggie-pouch-thing filled with what I assume is milk, a large pill, and a sad looking half of a sandwich on a small tray protruding from the door that earlier had just been a faint square seam. I pick apart the dry wheat bread, thin slices of turkey, and piece of waxy cheese but by this point I’m so hungry that even the nearly flavorlessness of it isn’t depressing. The milk is room temperature so I ignore it, just like the pill.

More waiting and sleeping, at one point the tray returns to being just a seam. The pill sits on the desk bolted to the center of the floor a cleanly printed note with the message “Vitamin” lays under it. Eventually there is a new half sandwich, pouch of what is indeed milk, and a new vitamin.

I am still hungry, cold, and bored out of my mind when finally there is a voice that comes through the door. “Ms. Smoak, I’m Doctor F. I’m here to help you with physical therapy to help keep you as healthy as we can during your sentence.”

}]}———}>

_Later…_

I am in here for my crimes. I understand that, I accept it, I deserve it. The only break from the monotony of _nothing_ is the PT and helping ARGUS with the requests. Using a dummy laptop connected wirelessly to who knows what, it’s the digital equivalent of a notepad. I write out codes to solve problems. Or I assume they would, it’s not like I get to see them working. There is just a note stating it did not work and a command to try again. Lyla never does make it here so my questions remain unanswered.

}]}———}>

_Later…_

When the Dr. F is… gone there is nothing but work to focus on. ARGUS gives an offer for a new doctor but I _politely decline in a not so calm manner_ before they even finish the question.

Gradually, over an unmarked timeline of sandwiches, sleeps, and a finger aching amount of coding I grow numb. Even when the neatly typed objective changes I don’t feel anything. The succinct words on an index card slipped in with the food when the seam opens to reveal a tray, the signal that whatever I’d completed before had worked or was no longer needed. No happiness, no frustration, just the need to do something, to continue on the next task, next test, next, next, next.

The only emotion that manifests, and it manifests with the ferocity of all the missing ones combined, is terror. The creature I call _It_ inspires it. Terror drives me to scream and press myself as best I can into a corner until the guards drag _It_ away from my door. Terror has me learn the best thing to do is not to scream, but to be silent, and stay silent, but without my own sound to drown out the clawing, laughing, the sound of screams and alarms and It working and rarely but still any success, even if the guards drag it away before it can touch me, only makes the terror intensify.

}]}———}>

_Later…much._

The alarms trigger, the minimal climate controls hiss to a halt. I stop mid-keystroke. I’m exhausted, the noises at my door kept me awake when I was starving for sleep until there was shouting and new guards. Nervous sweat instantly pricks at my skin as the flashing light further illuminates the bright hallway and I look at the window to make sure the two guards are still right out there. The backs of their helmets are closer in so I can see the edges of both without having to move. _Two guards. Two guards are good._ They’ve got their weapons out looking for the source. My small room feels too exposed. There is so very little in here that isn’t bolted down. My eyes don’t need to scan, every placement is memorized from the bed to the untouched sandwich, pill, and pouch, so this glorified notepad is the best I can do as a weapon. _Better than nothing._

One of the guards is gone, just gone. The other whips around, and I see his eyes still widening before disappearing just as fast. _No, no, no, please no._ I don’t move, a couple feet wouldn’t do anything, not like I can hide and I’m not willing to give up my grip. Muffled noises then silence. _Calm down, they reinforced the door, It couldn’t get in earlier, It won’t be able to now, you’re safe. No one can get in. You’re- Fuck!_ A masked face that is not the guard’s uniform peers in my window, before I have time to cringe away, or even blink, it’s gone again. A blast of adrenaline makes my hands shake as I let out the breath I was holding. The face reappears and I stupidly hold the device out in front of me like it’d actually work as a shield. Fumbling for the milk pouch to be a projectile because fuck it I need to buy time for the other guards...

The muffled voice sounds weird, almost humming, and…familiar, “Felicity?”

I force myself look over the edge, over at the window, “B-“ shaking my head to stop the word, “Flash?” My voice is rough, unfamiliar. _When was the last time I said something out loud?_  The room suddenly has a second occupant. I cough to try and clear my throat, but it’s still hoarse, “What are you doing here?” _Is he a hallucination?_

“What am _I_ -? God Felicity, what the hell are _you_ doing here?!”

My mouth just opens and closes. _May not be Catholic, but penance would probably be the best-_ Before I finish the thought he’s blurred over to me, picked me up, a look that says ‘ _Seriously?_ ’ at my clenched shield, still raised, even as I try to shy away from the contact.

I try to smile, as foreign as it feels, to reassure him. _Because that’s what I do for my teams- no, former teams- no…_ _Word, word, what’s the word…friends_ \- “Wait!” _What was that noise? Is It out there?_ I try to look around him, shushing him two different times when he tries to ask something, making too much noise.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shhhh!” I cover his mouth, and hold my breath before hissing, “I’m trying to listen. Do you hear _It_ breathing?”

“Are you- You’re acting kind of… Did they drug you?”

“N…No?  No. They wouldn’t do that anymore, just the vitamins. I work with them to-“ _Save the world?_

“Hold tight. This’ll just take a-”

_No. Stop. Wait._ “You can’t.” I cut him off.

The movement is too much, my head swims and I fight the urge to heave as we stop somewhere not enclosed in artificial light. The friction from being sped through…everything and the heat of contact points only make me recognize how cold I forgot that I always am. My teeth chatter. He smiles and hugs me tight before starting to put me down. “ _You can’t_ …Don’t-!“

“I’m not going to just leave you in an ARGUS cell!” The arm supporting my legs is gone and I drop like a scene straight out of Pinocchio.

He has me leaning on his shoulders before my hands can hit the dirt.

“Don’t drop me.”

He looks over me, concern in the tightness around his mouth and eyes and I focus only on that, not the oppressive crush caused by the lack of solid walls around me. “Start talking.”

“The T-L-D-R? I’m…” _I’m what?_ “Helping ARGUS.”

“A little more detail please. You weren’t working with them, you were being held prisoner.”

“Ehh… kinda both? It’s ok though,” the sunlight is nearly blinding and the sounds… “You need to take me back-, I can’t-, you left my chair. Not that I don’t appreciate being in your arms-, held in your arms-, touching you.” I actually don’t appreciate that at all, why does my brain think of those words?  Scrunching my eyes closed I count down. _Three, two, one._ “It was good to see you, but I _need_ to be _back_ in my cell.”

“Does anyone know you were there?”

The deep breath of not-recycled air, thick with pollen and the scent of living things makes me cough, “I’ve got a rotation of masked guards.” _My minions in white._ _I think of them as Stewart, Kevin, and Bob, but there might be a couple others under those things._ “And there was the doctor…physical therapist for a while that Lyla sent to help prevent atrophy.”

“Lyla? But she…“

_The wariness in his tone…_ My eyes open to meet his, “She what?”

“Not important right now. I have to get you out of here.”

“N-No you don’t.”

“Felicity.”

“No. You. Don’t.” I have to clear my throat again, it feels strained from too much talking, but if he thinks he can just get his way because I can’t walk away then he has some stark realities he needs laid out. “I’ve done terrible things. That place is where I belong. I can make a difference, I’m making things right.”

He motions near his head, “Cisco is already calling-“

“ _Don’t!_ ” I have to focus only on his face, blocking out my surroundings, feeling waves of unease demanding my attention when glancing around. The rustling of nature is spiking my blood pressure. _It has to be nature in this big, wide open_ \- “Take me back.”

His is ignoring me, tapping near his ear like that makes a difference. “This isn’t a game of tele- No I wo-Seriously? But I haven’t even…fine. _Fine_.” He starts pulling off his headpiece, _“_ Someone wants to talk with you.”

_‘Who_?’ I mouth. _No one, say no one, be whatever…teasing_.

_‘Curtis.’_ He mouths back, trying to push the red helmet over my head. Aching to spill out apologies to my friend for having put him in what must have been an awkward situation, wanting to hear him, wanting to ask…I manage to stay silent as his voice comes through.

“Felicity? Felicity! I know you’re there, I can hear you breathing!”

My self control breaks after a couple more seconds, “H-hey.”

“Listen to me little Miss!” _Pissed off Curtis has gotten a lot-,_ “I don’t care how much space you need, you do not just disappear for years!”

A startled, nervous, brittle laugh slips out, “It hasn’t been…” I hesitate, looking at Barry, like he’s in on this failed joke. “No. I mean it’s not like there were any calendars -, but it couldn’t have been…”

Barry’s voice is quiet, touching a gloved hand at my scalp, overlapping me as he gets the gist of the conversation, “Or mirrors?”

“But it hasn’t…” Confusion and wariness paint my tone. I push at him needing to not be touching anyone right now. “ _Put me down!_ ”

I am placed on the ground while a shout bursts from the earpiece, “Two years! We even stole that tablet HELIX gave you, back from ARGUS, hoping it would help track-” before I tear the thick material off me, gasping for air. My safe cocoon of numbness starts fraying, despair slithers out to coil jagged icy spikes through my heart. The mask drops from my fingers as that hard built protective nothingness tries to drag itself back over the consuming void that is left behind of _years_ worth of emotions.

He’s mistaken, exaggerating, that can’t be true. It takes a couple starts before I manage out in a strained voice, “What’s the date?” I get an apologetic look as Barry says something that can’t be correct. Heat pricks at my eyes. “They were going to let me record another message for my mom at New Year’s.” He crouches down near me and I shy away.

He doesn’t acknowledge the snub, but the mask is back in place, “Just give me a few seconds, I almost forgot-.” Then he’s gone.

Still reeling it takes a few heartbeats for my mind to catch up. Looking around I suddenly feel so very alone and exposed. _What if something happens to him?_

_What if he doesn’t come back?_

_I’m in the middle of trees, possibly somewhere no one would ever find me._

The panic is rising and my lack of sleep makes it hard to think clearly. _He should have been back by now._ It’s been a minute, not seconds. _Back in my cell I was bored, but it was…It was mostly safe, and the small meals came. Was it longer than every handful of hours? Being hungry was part of…_

_But out here I’m…_

_Which direction is it?_

_How do I get back?_

_What if there’s-?_

“Barry?!” My voice is lost among the forest. The sound of rustling…the wind or someone, some _thing_? _It’s too big, too open, too…_  I can’t breathe, there’s too much and too little air all at once.

I’m pulling myself through leaf litter when there is a breeze trailed blur of red.

“Hey, sorry for the delay, I just had to drop off…” He looks at the short dragged path, then back at me, picking up the discarded non-weapon. “What are you doing? Are- are you crying?”

I swipe my dirty sleeve at my eyes, “ _Barry Allen!_ You do _not_ just leave me in the middle of nowhere! I can’t even-” A gesture at my useless legs.

“My bad. Sorry, _sorry_ , I wasn’t thinking…” There is a moment as he steps towards me, pulls back, then does it again. “Can I pick you up?”

I move my head.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Rubbing my palms on my pants, I look up again, silently asking him to deny it, “Two years?”

A nod and an offered arm.

This time he takes it slower, which is still amazingly fast, but reduced enough for me to watch the landscape blurring by on the way to wherever. Wherever turns out to be a van with tinted windows and a mix of familiar and new faces that apparently make up Team Flash.

There’s too much hugging, and my discomfort must be obvious because it goes quickly. All this touching is making me faintly nauseous and panicky. It feels risky, unsafe… A few people I don’t know, one of whom has an identical tan outfit of the one I’m wearing, right down to the thin type of sock-slippers. Based on what they’re saying he’s the brother of someone they work with? We get relegated to the very back, and by that I mean he shimmies in without question and I get placed in the closer side like a doll on a shelf.

I intentionally don’t focus on the fact that it’s easier to breathe in this thing than it had been in the scattered trees. Cisco climbs into the driver’s seat, and everyone else loads in, the ones I don’t know stick to the front, except this H.G.- _Not_ -Harrison-Wells person who is asking an endless stream of questions to Kevin, my fellow-

… _Are we fugitives if we weren’t officially sentenced?_ …

Barry just in front of my seat, and offers a hand to hold that I pat away once then nestle my twining fingers into my lap. I close my eyes and focus on breathing. He ignores the hint. “So what happened, with your legs, I thought you were fixed?”

“An EMP, damaged the device. It wasn’t working so I had it removed.” We are just getting up to speed when that flicks at a memory. The thought slowly occurs to me, as if it’s a present that I am slowly unwrapping. “How- How did you crack into the ARGUS security system?”

“Cisco found a way to sneak in without having to…”

My gut churns and I glance at the small bump in the neck of the person beside me, not focusing on the rest of his words. _Boom._

“Then how did you disable the…You disabled the tracking implants, right?”

“Implants?”

My voice is tight, quiet but insistent, “Stop the car.” _Big bada boom._

“Hey Cisco-“ Barry casually calls forward.

Kevin bellows, making me flinch, “STOP THE CAR NOW!”

Horns blare as Cisco doesn’t question and doesn’t hesitate.

The chaos of moments, trying to show, trying to explain… In the end Cisco manages to cobble together something out of what is in the van that can scramble the implants until they can be removed. At least for now. The odd sort of choker makes a bulky, unfamiliar weight, but I’d rather that over an explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt better to cut this chapter in two, just need to read over the next chapter for any glaring mistakes and I'll post it.


	9. Are We There Yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Thanks for reading.

My head leans on the side of the van. My mind demands I close my eyes, begging to rest, but I force myself to stare out the front windshield. They ask questions and I stay silent, trying not to even answer them in my thoughts. I don’t want…no, that’s not right, I _can’t_ talk to anyone. Not after Curtis already cracked my mental armor. I can’t go back to feeling. I can’t go back to normal and then try to patch myself back to just existing when ARGUS picks me up again. So I am rude, I don’t speak and I don’t acknowledge even hearing them. I said too much, allowed too much with my surprise, with the emotions I had such a tight control on. _I shouldn’t have said anything in my cell, Barry would have just left._ I close my eyes, arguing with myself. _No, he wouldn’t have._

Looking out the window again. _Window, road, not him, don’t look at- Damn it!_

“Felicity?” Barry gives me a wary smile, and my eyes dart back to the window. “Do you need something?”

 _He might have left…_ Another blink and ignore. _If he were as damaged as me and delirious. We’re- They’re all cut from the same cloth, never leave someone behind. I could have been hurting him, thrown him at the mercy of It-_ An involuntary whine tries to sneak out but just dies as a squeak in my throat. _Ignore, ignore, ignore!_ I focus on the white dashes on the road and not his voice, not the hand that tentatively touches mine until it gives a slight squeeze and is pulled back. _You could be kneeing them in the- no you can’t knee anything…You could be punching them in their perfect faces and every one of them would still white knight you to the nearest place they thought safe…_

What am I-? _Stop it. Don’t you dare!_ Heat burns behind the ache in my eyes, and I widen them, fighting it. _Don’t you dare cry again. They’ll take you to STAR Labs, and ARGUS will be waiting, then you’ll go back to your cell where you belong. Murderer. That will be that, those are facts. Don’t cry over facts._

Kevin stops mid-seemingly-endless-ramble, perking up, leaning towards me and immediately gasping, demanding attention, "Cisco!” I suck in a breath, leaning against the glass and metal so he doesn’t bump me.

Barry, who at some point pulled his helmet off and a dark jacket on, looking so young... almost manages to hide a panicked noise, “What? What’s wrong? Is there another-“

Kevin’s finger jabs at my window and I see his focus is not me but rather the glowing temptation advertized. “Belly!”

 “What?”

He points again at the Big Belly Burger. I feel my mouth start to water at the mere idea. I’ve dreamt about the thought of something so basic as mayo or mustard, let alone the perfection that is the memory of one of those burgers. I lick my dry lips.

A startled chuckle from Barry, “Right...” then looking back and forth between the pair of us in our matching tan, practically…more than practically… drooling at the person sized picture of the food, “Oh! You’re not kidding… Um, quick detour Cisco?”

Cisco gives a motion with his fingers while he doesn’t slow in his quiet discussion with whoever is on the other end of that earpiece. _When did he answer the phone?_ Seconds later we are at the drive through, ordering loads of burgers, fries, drinks.

Kevin snatches the first bag like it’s his own personal Holy Grail before we’ve even pulled back on the road. I try to resist when Barry holds the next bag out to me. But I can’t help but breathe in that amazing perfume of fast food, can’t make my ears unhear the person beside me tearing into his own bag, that slight crunch of biting through onion or lettuce. My willpower caves as I grab onto the bag, not looking at the other occupants of the van.

Hunger didn’t keep me kosher with the turkey and cheese, a Big Belly deluxe cheeseburger doesn’t stand a chance. Not even the tiniest bit of self consciousness rears its head with my monster sized bite, I moan in pleasure as the hot, juicy, greasy, cheesy, meatiness coats my mouth. The words slip out unconsciously as the cool crisp lettuce and tomato grind between my teeth, “Oh my god!” Hot and cold and packed with flavor, not bland and room temperature, I have never eaten anything this delicious in my life. Never. The other guy is just as blissed out, managing to cram in two more bites before swallowing his first. I practically inhale the first fries I can grab, sucking my burning fingers while dealing with the fresh-from-the-fryer heat. I recognize that I’m breaking apart that detached distance, but if this is my reward it pushes all thoughts of the future from my mind.

“Fuck that’s- mmmm! And…oh yes!” He groans out the words.

Licking the ketchup that tries to leak off the side of my burger before chomping again, I can only make a noise of whole hearted agreement, “Mmmm!”

“Uh…”

I don’t even open my eyes to look at Barry while he speaks, instead focusing on savoring my next bite.

“You guys ok?”

…The van is silent other than us. I chew as Kevin says, “You have no idea.”

I nod, swallow then almost purr, “This is so good, so, _sooo_ good.” The next bite is just as good as the last.

“Yeah, uh...you might want to tone down the volume on that good while Cisco’s on the phone, it’s sounding kinda…inappropriate.”

“Hey man,“The not-Harrison they called H.G. puts a hand out to stop him, “Don’t block the beautiful expression of love these two are sharing. I find it a delightful and evocative performance.”

I don’t care about his delight as long as he doesn’t take my food or try to stop me, “This performance charges half your burger for pervy spectators.” I snark, not expecting it to work, but he shrugs and fishes in a bag, extending another paper wrapped burger out. It is snatched from my fingertips by a greedy bastard who is going to get punched in the stomach so he can’t enjoy it if he doesn’t give that burger back to me. Despite the look I give him, promising pain, dude makes no qualms about giving an extra loud moan in H.G.’s direction as he shoves nearly half of the thing in his mouth. I practically beg between bites while he keeps raising the pilfered food out of my reach, which earns him a glare as I finish the last bite and have to make do with more fries.

He shrugs and keeps eating. A few breaths later Kevin half gags mid bite, making an odd face, “Gonna puke.”

I immediately stop eating as once again we swerve to the side of the road. Mentally pleading with my stomach to ignore the comment and the sounds Kevin is making it has other plans and chooses instead to ignore me, ‘Oh…me too.”

I am regretting the invention of food,  this awkward vomiting push-up pose is its own form of torture, I can’t manage to thank whoever holds my hair back as a disgusted, “Did you even chew?” comes from someone next to the other purger a few feet to my right.

“Well that went from sexy to unsexy real fast.” “You thought he was being sexy?” “The play between them and their orgiastic consummation, in this instance of literal food was quite-“ H.G. and Cisco banter back and forth.

“Don’t-“ a dry heave, “oh god, don’t talk to me.” Or look, or touch, or breathe in the same proximity as me.

 I don’t know how Kevin finishes gagging before me considering he ate twice as much, but he spits out once more onto the ground and grumbles, “Worth it! Gonna eat the rest. Just…wait.”

By the time I am carried to the van and try to buckle my seatbelt my chill is back and my hands are shaking so hard I give up and ask for help. I needed those calories but the thought of eating anything else is enough to start twisting my stomach again. Team Flash starts getting calls, one time, one, Cisco answers and calls back that it's for me. My eyes stay mostly closed, vacantly absorbing the world we pass by, and I shake my head...ok, I shiver so hard my head jerks but it's close enough.

"Uh man, it's not a good...she's sleeping...Almost sleeping...Believe me, she looks like she needs...No....Yes...I don't know. Anything I say is going to have you doing your scary voice...I'm driving, I can't- Thi- ...eakin-...up..." He starts making noises like the connection is going and abruptly hangs up. "...Soooo....there might be some company when we get back..." Barry's phone starts ringing. He silences it. Cisco's phone starts ringing again. Five minutes of constant ringing and silencing before they stop.

I continue staring out the window, ignoring questions again, the van rhythm mixing with the nearly foreign concept of _safe_ are lulling me to sleep anyway, the press of the van frame makes a pillow as I start to drift. As the miles roll by I surface in and out of stolen moments of sleep.


	10. Home Away From Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Probably needs a better glance over but trying to push these out. Was running long so chopping the chapter in half.

The lulling motion and the hum of the AC stops, ripping me out of the dreamless rest.  Gasping, I jerk towards the wall I’m already touching, the sounds here are unfamiliar, the colors are not stark white, they’re too vivid, disorienting, only when I see the faces I recognize staring at me do the past handful of hours start clicking into place. “Where-? Where are we?”

“Welcome back to STAR Labs, Sleeping Beauty.” Is yelled from up front.

Barry is already stretching, “Let’s get you both down so his sister and Caitlyn can check you over.”

The tenseness returns between my shoulder blades. _It’s fine, it’s normal, it’s safe…just a totally normal check. No one dangerous running around in their lab…_ My hands twitch as I unbuckle the seatbelt and watch the opening door.

Barry extends his arms, waiting for my go ahead before picking me up. “Ready?”

“If I’m not…? I just…I really…need a couple minutes…alone.”

“I think Caitlyn will be willing to wait a bit longer-” The rest of what he says doesn’t register. A familiar motorcycle is parked in front of the entrance, a tall figure leaning on it with crossed arms.

_Oliver, standing…walking. Walking this way. Not hurt. Not happy. Angry._ His speed picks up and face gets more severe with every step. _Beyond angry._

 A breeze whips hair around my face and neck. I flinch in Barry’s grip, trying to look towards a nonexistent cell door. Sucking in fast shallow breaths doesn’t stop the feeling like I’m drowning, “I-“

 “Felicity?” Oliver stalks forward, now within earshot. His strides are long, fast. A car screeches to a halt beside him and another couple familiar faces are visible through the open windows.

The sun is too hot, too bright. My eyes keep slipping out of focus. “I can’t…“ Panting, “Barry…” I keep looking for something I can’t see.

I am shifted in his grip, “Hey guys,” My chest is tight, sweat beading as a sudden chill slithers through me. ”As happy as I’m sure she is to see you, Felicity probably needs a couple minutes to-”

Between one blink and the next it’s no longer Oliver approaching, it’s _It_. My voice is stolen and I am frozen, trapped, nowhere to hide. As my hand clenches on his arm Barry glances down, his face looks blurry, brows wrinkling with concern. ‘ _Help_.’ I mouth.

_It_ opens its jaws, exposing the rows of fangs filed razor sharp. _Hide! The guards- Yell for them and hide!_ The white walls of my room spin, my heart is pounding erratically. _Nononono! Please!_ Throat tight my barely begged, “Please, help” can’t possibly reach the guards. _Too late!_ It keeps getting closer.

The sensation of being set down in a chair doesn’t fit what I’m seeing. Muffled noise repeats itself until it forms into my name and things start coming back into focus. _Somewhere else. Indoors. Barry moved us_. The room is empty except for us.

 “I get it, overwhelming to have so many coming at you all at once.”

_Not quite my issues…_ It takes a few gasps but I force out a “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll make them take turns.”

_Make them…them?_ What must have just occurred sinks in. _Oh…oh crap._ The slapping of feet on floor echo down the hallway, “Luck with that…” The door flies open, slamming into the wall behind it, making me flinch and claw the armrests as Oliver bursts into the room. A faint wheezing noise escapes me. _It’s Oliver, just Oliver._ My body doesn’t accept my mental assurances, yet.

“ _Felicity Smoak!_ “ His strides slow, barely, as I feel his gaze flicking over me. Icy blue eyes meet mine. “Give us a few moments, Barry.”

In my peripheral vision I can see my friend look down at me then back, “I don’t-“

“Wasn’t a request. I need to talk to my _wife_. Alone.” The dangerous edge of his voice echoes off the ceiling.

I go perfectly still, like a prey animal sensing danger. _Ohhh crap. He’s- He’s still this pissed? The divorce would have just taken weeks after he signed, if it’s been two- He shouldn’t-._ His gaze narrows, finally blinking and moving _the stare_ to Barry before returning it to me.

_Of course he is. You lied, broke the understanding, the tentative bridge of trust that had just been offered. Took away his control._ My lungs don’t dare breathe until they burn and desperation claws at my throat.

Oliver’s approaching three body lengths away, “Wi- Wife? You two got…”

The measured steps slow. I breathe in air and whisper, “Long-“

“Story, right.” Barry looks back and forth between us again, obviously not wanting to be in the middle of this shit. I don’t blame him.

He stops, arms crossing, “Now, B-”

There is a noise, a low growl then the scrape of something on metal. The two men are no longer a concern. I push myself up and back, feeling for the safety of a solid wall that just isn’t within reach behind me. _It followed me. It found me._ Each window and doorframe has to be looked at, twice, to make sure there are no hints of fangs or claws.

Something touches my shoulder and through apparently years of practice I force myself to stay silent, bracing to finally feel the death it promised so many times. The sour stink of fear-sweat churns my empty stomach. “Felicity.” _That’s not its voice_ … _That’s Barry._

“It’s the HVAC…” It’s the quiet reassurance that makes me realize I must have missed some part of a conversation around me.

_It’s the pipes. The AC._ I nod. There is an expectant silence.

“I _will_ put more arrows in you if you don’t leave the room. You’re already in a place you don’t want to be for not calling us when you went forwards with your plan to break into an off books ARGUS prison.” A short but direct look between the two of them.

Barry looks at me, “Felicity?” The subtle shift and posture makes it clear he’s ready to damn the consequences and move me from the room at the slightest request on my part.

Two intense stares feel like a physical weight, so heavy I have to look down, still trying to calm my heartbeat from the racing flutter of panic it insists on. He’s _him_ again, Oliver, not _It_. Licking my lips I blink away the thought, and give the smallest nod of my head, voice hoarse from holding in the noise. “’S ok…Oliver won’t shoot- won’t hurt me.” I don’t want an audience for what is likely to be a savage, razor tongued condemnation of my sins. _I did this, I deserve whatever comes from it_.

We’re alone in a blink, and he takes one long step closer. I clench my fingers into a tight fist, forcing them to still their movements.

_Apologize. Start now, stop never. Start where? Wife. Start with that._

“Ol-Oliver, I…” My voice cracks, “I knew you’d be upset, but it was necessary…” He pulls off his leather jacket and gloves, letting them drop to the floor, “And temporary, and the lawyer assured me-“ His eyes scour me again and he frowns, taking a step closer, the hoarse waver of my voice just drives up my flight instinct. “A- and apparently I have panic attacks now,” his next step hesitates, “so if you could go easy-“

“Stop staring at me like you’re some injured deer in the headlights. You just said it, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know. I _know_ that, obviously. I know that up here,” I point to my head, “but I’m having a hard time making my body accept that fact.” I hold up my tremoring hands between us as evidence while he takes the last two steps. “You have every right to yell and-“

“I’m not going to yell at you Felicity.” I’m being crushed and fighting not to flail in panic as his arms wrap around my shoulders and lift me up out of the seat. “I just need to convince myself that you’re real.”

He hugs me, like he had a million times before but my body doesn’t care, it doesn’t relax. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”

"You left. You fled. We needed you and you just disappeared."

My eyes burn but my cracked lip are just another sign that I am dehydrated and that, _that alone_ , I can thank for the lack of tears managing to fully form.

He paces, hands in constant motion, crossed over his chest, flexing in the air at me, shoving through his hair, "In the aftermath, when I was struggling to hold us all together while trying to heal...When Digg and Lyla were- _You would have made the difference Felicity_. If you had-"

The words hit my chest, breaking me open, exposing, and destroying. My mouth opens, closes, there’s nothing I can say. I have no defense, no good excuse, I thought I was ready for this, I’m not. So I use the only shield I have, whispering, "I need some air."

He cuts off mid word, whirling back to stare. “What?” His hand covers mine,

A shudder runs through me, “Please- please stop, I- I need.” The heat, the stress, the feel of skin being pressed against mine, the room…too open, too exposed, it’s too much. I cower.

“Felicity?” His voice blurs into nothing as the sounds of _It_ attacking _Her_ while I was pinned helpless under the crush of them.

“I can’t-“ He backs off, I know he does, I know Oliver is not _It_ , but with Its torment so recent, the stress of the day, this contact, the touches that have built up on my system through the day, chipping away at my control. My body says panic and my mind follows. I’m sucking in fast shallow breaths but it feels like I’m drowning, “I-“ There’s a roaring in my ears and the dark gray behind my squeezed shut lids surges to black.

}]}———}>


	11. STAR Labs Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this part out, life is being extra busy.
> 
> Again because Ao3 doesn't keep the indent, what I would indent (mixed in flashbacks) are italicized and aligned right.
> 
> The only beta reader is myself. Thank you.

The world slowly comes to awareness. Bits and pieces filter in, and I know there is a sense that I should be concerned…something _should_ be bothering me, but the worry stays just out of thought. I’m on something soft. Nothing is threatening. No one is touching.

The silence is missing. Voices… nearby but not too close, saying something. _Why can I hear them?_ The panic isn’t there, everything just a sort of floating…like water about to boil, those first bubbles ready to break a smooth surface but for now hidden.

My eyelids feel heavy as sandbags and it takes a focused effort before I manage to force them open a fraction. One look, one image to figure out before they drift shut again. I’m in a room, not white. Nearby two figures talk. _That should freak me out, but…it doesn’t?_

A minute passes then it’s easier, this time, to open my eyes. Taking long seconds, trying to focus on them without the missing soft, bendy pair of glasses ARGUS had replaced my normal pair with.“-s patient for the first few months, but she’s been gone for _years!_ I’m out of patience.”

Fuzzy edges. One in gray, one in green. Familiar green…

Moving my arm I find something in it, glancing then feeling it as I keep my eyes on the figures. Tracking up, and up, trying to making sure it’s real before I lick my dry lips, voice quiet, “What…?”

“Don’t touch that!” Her voice is sharp with the command. They move as one, making me dizzy and I jerk my hand away to block the space between us. The light seems way too bright, but that’s familiar, painful but comforting in its own way. “Sorry, Kevin tore his out when he woke up, it was a mess…and you need to keep your fluids.” I blink at them. The unfamiliar lady changes her voice, making it go higher and softer, “Felicity! Hey there sweetie, I’m Kristen-” The tone is one like she is talking to a crying child, rather than the definitely-not-crying-me, the endearment unfamiliar.

Oliver’s quiet, the not-quite-emotionless mask on his voice is impossible to mistake, “How do you feel? Does anything hurt?” He crosses his arms a couple feet away.

What feels like an ancient memory pops up, one of the bubbles of emotion bursting through. I laugh so very hard in my head, at the very contrasting image in my mind, a smile cracks my dry lips. _Last time he woke me asking that he had kept me up using his-_

His brow both furrows and one side rises as he cuts me off with a cough, “Not appropriate to share.”

My eyes go wide. _Is he a mind reader now? Was there another STAR Labs event?_

Shaking his head he mutters, “Thankfully no.”

_Then how?_ “I didn’t say anything?” _Especially not about how hard-_

He cuts off the thought, “Felicity! Yeah you did.”

From somewhere else comes, “Mmm hmm!”

Kristen agrees, “Yes, you did.”

I scan the room to find where the third voice is coming from…Caitlin is on the other side of me, fiddling with one of the machines. “Sss-” The word is slippery and takes a second to finish coming to mind, “-orry…?”

“No need, but Kristin is a doctor, and now that she’s done with her brother she’ll just need to check-“

My eyes immediately go to the door and panic flashes and claws, trying to gain a hold. _Open._ _Wide open. Anyone could-_ “No,” I shake my head quickly, “I’m good, fine. Nothing hurts.” _Not really and they don’t- they don’t need to- And I know that._ My stomach knots as I look back at them, then at the door. _Or leave me in a room with…Why do they keep staring at me like that? Why isn’t Lyla’s team here yet?_

Everything feels detached, muted, like it’s a dream. A dream where I’m trying to freak out.

The two I know in the trio share a wary look, “You don’t need to worry about…ARGUS right now.”

“Maybe you would be more comfortable with-“

I touch my mouth. _Son of a bitch am I talking again?!_ The words are too loud to be just thoughts and I feel my lips moving. _Fuck! Stop it! Puppies, think of puppies. No. Sleep. Fall asleep, you don’t talk in your sleep._

Oliver leans near, not in danger of touching, but close enough that his soft voice is directed at my ears only, “Wrong.” He gives a look to the others.

“I’m just going to check something, somewhere…else… for a  couple moments…” Caitlyn steps towards me arms opening like she’s going to hug me. I brace myself, eyes squeezing shut, but the touch never comes. There is the sound of footsteps and when I open my eyes she is gone.

“I…Cait…” The apology dies in my throat.

“It’s the medication causing the temporary vocal outbursts. It’s rather new, superb for panic, with the unfortunate side effect as you’re experiencing, an involuntary vocalization, but at least it’s not nausea, or seizure, or any of those other- Look, it’s nothing to be concerned with, my brother’s inner monologue is far more…colorful when he’s dosed, and it only lasts a couple minutes, ten at the most, just enough to stave off the situation or memories, whatever might be triggering the distress.”

“Kevin has told us a bit about his stay at that _place_ , but you’re in a different condition than he is.” Oliver smoothly transitions the focus back to me, “Do you want one of your past physicians? Just let Kristin check a few more things now that you’re awake again, then we can get you who you’re comfortable with.”

“The only one I want my favorite doctor. Dr. Pepper.” I force a smile but the joke falls flat. “Or, uh, I haven’t had caffeine in…well um, I would ki-“ I wince, stopping myself mid quip. “I would _love_ a cup of coffee….please.”

He thumbs something into his phone and a second later Barry blurs in and out again, leaving a cup in Oliver’s grasp and the tingling feel of a hand having just squeezed mine. “Why don’t we start with this.”

He extends it over to my outstretched, grabby fingers. I glance down into the cup and frown. “Either you had him add a ton of creamer or you brought me…milk.” Kristen motions to a small cup of pills and Oliver hands that over too.

“Does a body good.”

Anything else, _anything_ , is preferable to another slightly room temperature cup of milk. “Are…are you serious right now?”

“You’ll need to sleep, and obviously need the calories-“

Kristen cuts him off with a sharp look, “It was probably a combination of the panic attack you mentioned to Oliver, and almost certainly low blood sugar that made you pass out. We’ll know more when the blood tests come back, but this should help. The supplements are a general daily, vitamin C, calcium with D, E, iron, and so on. Plus a probiotic to help settle your stomach, Barry mentioned the vomiting that happened on the drive.”

I grimace but swallow them like a good patient, only a slight shudder of disgust as it goes down, at least the milk is icy cold.

A full set of STARLABS emblazoned sweats is scrounged up for me as she asks me questions about how I feel, my vision, if this hurts, if I can feel that. She keeps it short, “Are there any injuries from your captivity I missed that you need looked at? Kevin had some burns…” a look at the door, like she can see him from here, “infected wounds, some other signs of interrogation…?”

_Burns?_ “I wasn’t interrogated. I’m fine.”

There is a scoff and she turns to Oliver, “If you could step outside, she might be more comfortable answering my questions-“

“Or you could step outside and she might be more comfortable answering my questions.”

“I’m not about to-“

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” I try to keep my mind free of thoughts, even though they haven’t slipped free since before drinking the milk. They stay observations just in case – her hair is ink black, that looks like Harrison Wells’ old motorized wheelchair, the blanket is soft, the sweats look warm. _I want to be warm._ Thankfully that wasn’t said but a noise, wistful to an embarrassing degree, slips free. There is a frustrated sound from Oliver’s direction. _Go._ “Go check on your brother. It’s ok.”

There is hesitation then a short, “Five minutes, maybe less. Do not push her. Do not push yourself. I already mentioned the meds are only good for a short time per dose, you’re pushing the very tail end of that. If you start feeling like you’re going to have a panic attack you tell him to leave. Understood?”

I nod. _Yes._

“Do you understand what I just told you.”

“Don’t freak out, got it.”

She pulls him just outside the door with her, giving me a clear view of the back of his head but not what either of them are saying. Kristen goes and he paces back in.

We waste almost a minute in silence before he clears his throat, “You-“ I steel myself as best I can, readying for the deserved accusations and anger, shoulders going achingly tight against my effort not to move away. “You’ve looked better.”

“I’m….” That was not an expected statement. “…sorry?”

“You’re-“ He stops himself, then as if they are bubbling out of him, the starts of questions come rapid fire, “What ha-? Where-? You just-! How could? Why? _Why?_ ”

There is a faint stutter as I try to understand the question “W-why do I…I- look like this?” _Why are you still terrified? You’ve stepped in front of his gun without a second thought. You’ve argued head to head. He was basically Ra’s al fucking Ghul and you drugged and tried to kidnap him._

But that me, that Felicity, feels like another life. This me? This me is still mostly numbness and fear, now with a dash of soul crushing guilt that had been locked away for so long.

His eyes narrow, but he gives the slightest shake of his head while crossing his arms. One step closer. “Why did you do it?”

“It?”

“Why did you leave? Why did you get your chip put in me? Why did you stay radio silent?” His voice gets quieter with every accusatory question, “Why didn’t you come back? Why did you help them after everything they did? Why-?”

My hands tremble and I twist them together, “I had to-“Shaking my head because that’s not right, “I was going to-I didn’t mean…“ Something painful feels like it’s clawing the inside of my chest, “Uh…I-,“ I refuse to look at him, and try to buy myself a few minutes of time, alone before this feeling can get worse. Pressing a hand on my stomach where I usually feel pressure when it’s necessary and, I try the simple, “I have to pee.”

“Do you want to be carried, or put in the wheelchair?”

I balk, “Just move it closer to me, I can-“

“I know you can, _just_ let me- let us help you.”

I stop arguing, asking politely for the second option between controlled breaths. Oliver drops the clothes in my lap as I am disconnected from a monitor, but not the IV. He frowns as he lifts me and takes the few steps to the wheelchair, and I abruptly realize I’m looping a set of “Thank you,” and “Sorry,” at him.

The IV pole is attached to the chair, which is gloriously mechanized and with a push if the controls I’m on my way to…well not freedom, a reprieve, a temporary reprieve from everything in the form of a small enclosed room.

}]}———}>

I do use the bathroom, because just as I was entering Kristen caught up and a small container was shoved at me with the instructions of “Urine sample, mid-stream, get at least-“ before I shut the door and numbly demanded for her not to listen to me pee.

I had turned the lock and spared the time to glance for cameras. The room at least is set up nicely for someone in my condition, low sink, assistive bars, mirrors…

Staring into the mirror I barely recognize myself, wondering how Barry did with the emergency lights flashing. My face is sickly, thin, pale beyond the dark circles under my eyes, and full of sharp angles.

My hair is about the same length as it had been, but a majority of the color is my natural darker one just the last inch or so a blonde similar to what I used to dye it, similar enough that the couple times I it fell into view in my cell I didn’t notice the difference.  _When did they do that? Why didn’t I think about my hair or my nails or anything to measure time? I care about knowing that…How many projects did I code? How could it have been two years? Did they actually drug me to make sure I would be oblivious? There were those times when it was hard to wake up. Stupid. Why were you so stupid?_ I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to rub away what I’m seeing.

 

_I stare at the dark bruise spanning the lower half of my face. At the hospital it was red, turning burgundy. Now that it’s had more hours to bloom, even with ice and heat to try and help, it had darkened to mostly plums and fingertip ovals of nearly black._

_I pull the box of bathroom things onto my lap. Setting the pallet of makeup in a row on the edge of the sink. ‘_ Ok, green tones down red...so do I stick with green, or go more orange for this?’ _Loading the sponge I make the first daub._

_The rest of the box spills out onto the ground as I jerk away, cursing. ‘_ You don’t have a choice. Don’t be stupid.’ _I tense and try again._ ‘What right do I have to sit here crying about things hurting when you exposed Lyla. Exposed John and John Jr. by extension, people you love and you gave HELIX what they needed to get into ARGUS, to get in to DOD, you personally delivered someone who can build something ‘on the fly’ to track anyone anywhere in this world!‘ _I slam my palm against the sink and end up muffling curses so the neighbors won’t check in on me._

_Calming breaths, pick it up, try it again. Even the lighter touch feels like I’m scraping raw nerves._

_It takes forever. The lipstick all scattered with the rest of the things, out of reach as long as I’m in this thing, so I have to rely on the small lip balm that fell in the sink, and pretend like the underlying color is makeup, not bruising. At least it looks better, even if the swelling is glaring to me. An eye shadow and my toothbrush crunch under my wheels as I roll back out. ‘_ I wonder if the first of the orders has arrived at Curtis’s yet?’

_The plans are already weaving themselves together._ ‘First this, then that, on and on until I fix this, until I will somehow fix everything. I’ll need to disappear, I’ll need an excuse, a believable excuse, and I’ll need to start thinking it out now because if I don’t I’ll say something stupid and they’ll feel obligated to chase- No! Different word! They’ll feel obligated to find me…’

 

Shaking away the memories that I had managed to ignore almost the entire duration of my captivity, I strip and stare at the reflection a moment. _If I had looked, even partially paid attention to my legs after Doctor F… I’d have known it was longer than months._ Quickly working the baggy new outfit on, so I don’t have to look at myself anymore, is my task. The fabric is even better than it looked - soft, and warm, and plush, a wearable security blanket. Not that I’ll say that to them.   _I wonder if I’ll be able to keep it when I’m taken back._

A knock startles me enough to send the small sample cup flying with a gasp. Thankfully I had screwed the lid on, so it’s just something impossible for me to reach rather than a gross mess. “Everything ok in there?”

“Fine! Getting changed.” My eyes ache and I reluctantly give up my isolation, requesting help with retrieving the fallen cup.

}]}———}>

“Come on!” There are too many people in the room. I know it’s because they cared about-, care about me, and are trying to piece together something between Kevin and my experiences, but it’s got my anxiety on edge. What is apparently a half dose of whatnot is pushed into my IV when Kristen frowns at my monitors telling each in turn they need to get out. No one listens. The only benefit is that the questions come so fast and from so many directions I don’t have time to get myself in trouble commenting out my thoughts. They had let me describe the monotony of my day, hadn’t even complained when that description only consisted of a couple sentences. For whatever reason they are interested in timelines, which I can’t give specifics on because it all just blurred together without any real designation…or at least everything but the horrible minutes and hours of being terrified. “There are things you could tell, your hair getting longer, your nails, your”… H.G. coughs and makes a vague gesture,”…monthly…”

I cringe, yet another thing I hadn’t paid attention to, and something I’m not discussing in front of everyone, “I…I don’t know. My hair,” I touch the tips of my hair, “stayed this long, my nails didn’t…I didn’t realize they were taking care of them somehow…I didn’t know”

“Before you were -”

“They lied.”

“You had a computer. It’s in the lab right now.”

“Did you bother turning it on? It wasn’t a computer, it was a screen, a keyboard, and a removable drive that stored text files. They’d knock on the door when I had to put the drive in the compartment and it’d be given back a couple minutes later.

Caitlyn tries for more details, again, “What happened to you?”

I evade, “Nothing.”

Cisco points the candy he’s been chewing on at me, “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Been a busy day.”

Oliver has been quiet until now, and it comes out in a frustrated burst, “Years. It’s been two damn-!” He catches himself, voice going back to the quiet tones, “It’s been years and the only sign we had that you were alive were the messages you kept leaving your mom, you couldn’t have just left one to m- us too?”

“One. They let me record one message. I wished her a happy birthday and told her I loved her and would talk to her as soon as I could. Just the once.” I keep twisting the sleeves, but there’s no way to hide from this.

“Felicity when we were trying to track you down for your help she let us listen to them, ‘Hi mom, just want to let you know I love you, miss you.’ and ‘Hey, want to say hi. Love you mom.’ and more.”

I shake my head, “They must have cobbled them together, I swear, I-“ I think, trying to remember for sure even if I’m certain… “I only made one.”

Curtis cuts in, “When did ARGUS pick you up? I saw touches of your work when they took down HELIX and Cayden James.”

 “They…Wait, they got him?” My world narrows down to his answer.

Someone gives a disgusted noise but I don’t turn my head, Curtis has never successfully lied to me, so I keep my eyes on him, “The livestream that shocked the world.”

I breathe the disbelieving demand for more, “What?”       

“He was…he was causing global problems as they were cleaning up the last remnants of HELIX. Cayden was mid speech, having hacked every broadcast and streaming video feed, ARGUS didn’t like him backstabbing them, so they put a bullet in his head and until they cut the power it-“

_None of that makes sense._ Apparently the thought came out of my mouth.

“What don’t you understand? That he was crazy or that they killed him?”

“They didn’t cut the power first?”

Oliver takes over in his tactical detail voice, “He was good, cocky, bragging how he couldn’t be touched. There were extenuating circumstances and ARGUS left it on so he didn’t get a warning… After… after they changed we kept waiting for you to surface, is that when they took you?”

“No…I…I’ve been…” I can’t get past what they just said, “They told me he was still loose.” I shift away, so no skin touches, needing to cool off in the suddenly sweltering room, “I…I was helping to…They would have said…Lyla would have-”

“You keep saying Lyla, but she’s not ARGUS. She hasn’t been ARGUS since…” Curtis trails off, “You do know what they did to the Diggles, right?”

"No.” My blood turns to shards of ice in my veins, “What happened?"

They glance at each other, then I get a look from him, “…They’re getting better. Curtis made a cybernetic leg and they moved, retired to somewhere calm, calmer.”

“Argus is now just a bunch of sociopaths, the only reason they took down HELIX was to stop them from interfering with their business and to try and steal their tech.

I’m silent for a couple seconds but my mind sluggishly churns. A breath to shove the idea into words, "I need the lab computers and the one Barry grabbed with me."

The doctor is the only one with an immediate response, “You need to get some rest-"

I cut her off, "I helped to design their security, I have a limited window to get in before they figure out how to keep me out if they haven’t already. I need access to those computers, now." They just stand there. "Now!"


	12. Demolition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I would indent (mixed in flashbacks) are italicized and aligned right.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

A quick escort to their computers, even with skills lacking new developments from the past two years, then I let loose. _To quote He-Man,_ _I have the power!_ If the idea weren’t so stomach churning I would think my vengeance bloodthirsty, instead...instead it is methodical.

The hours pass, it feels odd that I can track them by the clock on the wall. There is a constant feeling of eyes on me, but I ignore them, I have to focus. First thing was first, I locked down the ARGUS systems and fortified our own. Every potential vulnerability that I left with calculated risk in case it was ever turned on them is exploited, expanded. I am as an architect, aware of the flaws in what I designed regardless of the additional flourishes of those implementing it. I can see the attempts to block or slow me and tear through them, giving limited instructions, requests for Curtis and Cisco to help when I run into something new that I can’t waste time figuring out.

All too easily I’m taking their information and there’s not a damned thing they can do to stop me. An ARGUS taken over does not know the extents of the systems that they had, they obviously know about the main one and try to defend, but all the little hidden ones that feed in information…those are easy to tunnel through even being rusty at real time work. I set the other two to manage the data I pull, and vaguely recognize when Barry is sent to get additional equipment so the lab systems aren’t overloaded.

My fingers cramp, my eyes ache, my head pounding in time with my pulse, I ignore them, ignore everything. Only taking breaks for the bathroom and small cups of black coffee, the limited caffeine hooking into my system like turbo shots after such a long break. Occasionally the acid of it is too much and I try to quietly vomit on a bathroom trip now that I’m not followed on every one. Hunger is an ever present ache, but that’s nothing new, so I ignore it, and ignore the things they put near me. My hands keep trembling which makes me press harder on the keys, pounding them as I type and type.

Everything. I am pulling every dirty secret, every page of research, transferring every hidden bank account...

Breaking the silence, Cisco says it so quiet I almost miss it, “You ok?”

Nodding, not looking away from the screen, I try to type softer, but give up on it after a couple characters in the interest of speed. “I’m fine, just need to get this done. Can I get another coffee?”

“I think Kristin will make you hook up to a heart monitor if you have any more caffeine.”

Huffing as my shoulders tighten up, I shake my head, “Nevermind.” _I wish I had my glasses._

}]}———}>

Something feels wrong...talking... _But I can’t hear the guards through the door and glass_. I jerk upward, gasping, keyboard clinging to my cheek then dropping from where it imprinted my skin. It takes only seconds, but nevertheless they are long racing heartbeats, to recognize I'm not in my cell. The conversation stalls as the keyboard clatters back on the desk.

Someone's, Oliver's, head mirrors mine, a sharp motion up from the chair he was sleeping in, "What’s wrong? You ok?"

I work on unclenching my fists while wiping the corner of my mouth, nodding, pretending my voice is a normal pitch. "Must've fallen asleep.”

“You were only out ten, fifteen minutes at most, we disconnected your keyboard and-” Curtis doesn’t stop typing as he talks.

“Right. Thanks.” I find the point to resume, plug in, and start again. It’s hard to focus on what still needs to be done, especially with my head throbbing, but I keep at it relentlessly.

}]}———}>

Minutes or hours later I blink, crossing the last item off my hastily scribbled list. _I’m done? I can’t be done. What did I forget?_ “What am I forgetting? What else?”

“We got all their data?” I nod. “All their money?” Again I nod. My list is taken and read off, “Their systems destroyed, communications broken,…” each point until one not listed, “What about the prisons, the hidden ones?”

“I…I logged the locations, passed it on to the local defense and military…with notes on everyone, who is dangerous, who doesn’t appear to be, guard numbers, locations, images of weapons and armor, satellite imagery and blueprints. DOD has everything just like us. They’ll be fast, I pushed it in on high priority with notes on news briefs that will automatically be sent out in 48 hours. Disabled the boom from the trackers put those on a standby rather than active except for the files of those who are pure psychotics.” I don’t mention _It_ , or the fact that apparently there was no tracker implanted in them, because I would have set that to explode without a second thought.

He scrubs over his face, “I can’t think of anything else, but I’m about ready to fall asleep right here.”

“We can crash on the couches in the lounge.” Cisco chimes in with a weary voice.

The others had scattered, to sleep, eat, or do whatever it is that is their lives these days hours ago, except Oliver who is out cold, curled in on himself ever so slightly against the wall.

The exhaustion is not just in them, but I know if I don’t go to the medical area I’ll be moved there, so I state my intention and start the slow navigation back. Even focusing on the motorized control is difficult. Jerking out of near unconsciousness when someone shouts my name I find myself veering towards a wall. _Apparently he woke up._ I’m so tired that I feel sick, but force myself along the long hallway hearing the soft noise of Oliver’s footsteps trailing.

Kristen is in there with Kevin, his bed now in one of the offshoot rooms. She shuts his door, meeting me in the central bay.

There are a seemingly endless list of questions, each asked with the same monotonous tone, sometimes with a follow-up after she writes down what I say. I answer the basics on autopilot, yawning when I can’t force the urge away. Repeats of what she asked before, how I’m feeling, if I had any doctors while in my cell. I can’t force myself to give details on that one, just a “There was a doctor, Dr. F, for a while, she tried to help with PT. No one since her.” I’m not able to give timeframes.

“You said you were eating regularly, and I have the list of deficiencies from the tests, but can I know what sorts of things you were given so we can plan your next few days?’

“Turkey and cheese on wheat with milk, and a vitamin.” Oliver flinches at the distain when I say milk, but it’s true so I might as well voice it.

“Very good, what else?”

I raise a brow, because she obviously didn’t understand. “…Turkey and cheese, on wheat, with milk, and a vitamin …”

“Yes, I heard you, Kevin mentioned an oatmeal?”

“When they put food in the compartment, it was lunchmeat turkey and some sort of processed cheese, on wheat bread, dry, with a pouch of milk, and a vitamin.”

“Are you…that’s been every meal for the past two years for you?”

The hint of pity strokes up a defensiveness that has been long absent, “It wasn’t a vacation!” That wasn’t meant to be a shout. “I was getting the punishment for what I-“ My teeth click together when I shut my mouth as my tired brain gives a stuttered warning this might not be the path of thought to go down.

They overlap themselves, and I remember it’s not just the two of us in this room, “What you…?” “Punishment for…?”

I take a breath, closing my aching eyes as the memories slide across my mind, “Thousands died because of me. Cayden James was still out there, causing who knows how much damage, because of me. Helix had access to ARGUS long enough for them to get information that got people hurt or killed, because of me.” The words come tumbling out, adrenaline kicking through my system, better than caffeine, making me breathe hard but giving force to my words. “I was glad, I am glad I shot Chase because he was a _sick_ , _twisted_ , _son of a bitch_ , but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t murder. I was, I _am,_ a criminal! They fed me regular meals, if the variety was lacking I have _no one_ to blame but myself.”  

Oliver breaks the silence that follows, prowling the room, “Felicity you can’t possibly think that this- You didn’t- You didn’t _deserve_ that.”

_Pot, kettle, black._ “Then what do I deserve? You and John tr-“ a giant yawn escapes, a tremor shaking through my upper half, “-ained me, I could have hit his legs or arms, I chose to kill him. He was down, I made sure he stayed that way.” There is a strained silence. The thoughts that drummed on repeat at the start of my imprisonment are eager to plant themselves at the front of my mind.

“Ok, enough. This is not the time.” She motions where I’m to go, then shuts everyone, everyone being Oliver, else out of the small, windowless room.

There are charts, pills, machines, and vials awaiting me, lined up near a low hospital bed. Aren’t I lucky.

}]}———}>

I’m too tired to put up arguments as she quickly checks me over with cold hands and cold equipment, except as the minutes keep ticking by and she asks me to remove the warmth of the outfit. “Why are you so interested in my lady parts?”

“I’m a doctor, I’m interested in all your parts.” She scribbles something else on the chart.

“Well they’re fine, so you can skip over them, thanks.” I get an unamused look. “Can I just get a nap and pick this up in the morning, or evening, or whatever a couple hours is from now?”

“Swear to me that there’s nothing I should be checking, and that you will get them checked by someone as soon as you are able.” The intensity with which she stares at my face is unsettling. At my nod her hands oblige and move down to my legs, which in its own way is just as uncomfortable, making me pay more attention to them than I have in recent, blurry, memory.

“You’re the one who chose to go do your computer things for the past 12 hours instead of sleeping, you can give me half an hour.”

“I told you that they didn’t hurt me. I don’t know what your brother went through but it wasn’t the same. I was working with- I thought I was helping them protect…everyone. They treated me well.” She muffles a sort of snort at that. “They fed me, they protected me, I’m fine, just tired.”

There is a silence, then, “Kevin isn’t really my brother you know. I’m from what you call an alternate Earth, but I called home. This group just showed up one day last year, took down The Sight. Looped me in, I was scheduled for execution and they rescued me. Kevin, he had found my parents, said they were his.”

Frustration, and something I’m too worn out to recognize take over the emotionless tone, “We share a birthday, blood type, features, upbringing, just slight differences to each of us. The best I can figure is that we’re essentially fraternal twins across the planes of existence. Even if I met him only a little while ago, you can understand why I’m rather protective of this other me. So you may or may not have had a better experience than he did, but his month in there was traumatic.” The clipboard slams down against the small table full of equipment and I flinch. “Based on your physical conditions, your mental states, and the withdrawl symptoms both of you are starting to exhibit, I’m not about to believe you when you say you’re _fine_.”

“Withdrawl?”

“You’re not the only one with headaches, tremors, he’s mentioned a couple other things that are hard to distinguish from what is to be expected related to being held hostage. There were a couple anomalies in the blood tests, a couple extra things in his but one that you shared.”

“I didn’t-“

“When they control everything you eat, drink, and breathe it is easy to medicate you as they like.”

 

_I leave the “vitamin” where it is._

_No one comes to shove it down my throat. No threats are made, just more boredom._

_When Doctor F comes back though, she takes one look and says that I need to take it. The lack of sunlight makes the vitamin D essential_

_“I don’t want it.”_

_“That doesn’t matter, you need it.”_

_I roll my eyes, and throw it into the toilet. I get a disapproving frown, and it feels like the PT is cut short by a few moments._

_The next time the compartment in the door is shifted open a new vitamin sit there. I ignore it. Ignore it as my stomach growls. Ignore it while lying on the small thing they call a bed trying to sleep the hours by. Ignore it while drinking down handfuls of water from the sink, trying to ease the ache of hunger._

_It never moves, never changes, taunting me. Doctor F doesn’t come by again while I have this pill strike._

_Finally I cave gulping it down, and banging on the door, “Happy now? I took the damn pill!” There is no answer, and no food. I feel stupidly betrayed, there was an unwritten contract, I do what they want, they do what I want, well what I need at least._

_I fall asleep, trying to wrap the small sheet around me to bundle the scant warmth in. When I wake there is a half sandwich, pouch of milk, and another pill._

_I practically inhale the bland food, taking the pill too after only a slight hesitation. My stomach protests the lack of more, but at least it was something, right? And I took the second one, they should bring more soon…right?_

 

“Felicity?…Felicity?…Felicity?”

A light shines in my pried open eye making me shy away, “What, I-? Sorry…must’ve,” _passed out,_ “dozed off.”

“Sleep, hallucination, or memory?” There is a click and I see the clipboard is back out.

_Tell the truth or say what will get me a nap faster?_ “Kind of a daydream memory? Just really…” A thought occurs, “Can you give me something to send me to deep sleep? No dreams? Just a Nyquil-esque dead to the world sort of thing?” I keep my eyes on my hands, twisting in my lap.

The sound of more writing, “Why?”

“I don’t sleep…well. Stressful day plus new accommodations, I don’t want to wake up in a nightmare.” _I don’t want this to have been the dream._

“Let me get you some yogurt, and _then_ let me find something safe for you to take.”

A nod of agreement and she does make it quick. I’m fighting the losing battle again, with the intense need to act gone, in this small bright room, I’m slipping in and out of sleep already.

She holds out two small bottles, glaring in the direction of her brother’s room, “ _Someone_ raided the fridge, and Barry already left, so instead of plain yogurt you’re getting a yogurt smoothie. Do you want strawberry or vanilla?”

“Doesn’t matter.” She hands me one, and I warily take a slow gulp waiting for my stomach to not reject it before taking another. After the second swallow I am given a disgusting dark oil to hold under my tongue then drink. _Safe. Everyone else trusts her, this is a safe place, just trust, trust…_ Grimacing and gagging at the viscous stuff as it paints its flavor around my mouth and throat, I try to cover it with smoothie but the combination isn’t any better. “What was _that_?”

“CBD. It has the most benefits with the least side effects to help with your situation, it’s the best you’re getting for now.”

_I just need to sleep._

“You know Mr. Queen is still waiting outside, right?”

My eyes flick to the door, “Is he…” _You know him, there is no form of OK that he would be until he gets answers._ “Can you leave the lights on, and let him in if he-“ _He wouldn’t be waiting if he didn’t want to see me_ , “…please?”

The intensity that he charges in with has my panic reflexes in overdrive and the empty smoothie bottle slips from my grip to clatter on the floor. He notices and eases back. I force a hand to extend out to where he stops, each finger needing a second to unclench. A peace offering. “Hey.”

Staring at it, he feels over his stubble then stretches his hand out to grasp mine. The touch is familiar, if nerve wracking. “Hey.” The silence stretches and I try to stifle my yawn. “Sleep. We have some things to talk about when you wake up.” His hand squeezes mine.

I mean to blink my eyes, to respond, but when my eyes close they stay that way.


	13. Drugs and Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and thank you for your patience.

I crash hard. It is not a peaceful sleep, it is the black oblivion of utter exhaustion, or it is until it isn’t.

Knowing it is a memory doesn’t make it feel past tense. Terror, teeth and claws and stomach turning chewing. In a terrible alteration to what actually happened, the face I see keeps morphing from It to Adrian Chase or Isabel Rochev or Malcolm Merlyn or any number of the horrible people we’ve dealt with, but the actions don’t change, not the taunting, not the relishing of Its meal while blood and gore leak down its face, dripping onto me.

I’ve learned how to stay quiet, almost silent, most of the time, when frozen in fear, but this was before that. In this moment in time I had screamed until my throat was raw, when pinned under the carnage, and I’m well on my way to doing that again. “Please!” I beg, I sob, I scream. It snaps its teeth near my eye, “D-don’t!” I can’t get away, can’t stop it as another smattering of gore land on my cheek. “Get off!”

The voice is wrong, just wrong since it always sounded enraptured with itself, as it hisses “This is what happens to people like us.”

It just savages another mouthful of flesh from the dead or dying woman that crushes down over me. The memory twists further. It wrenches her still bleeding corpse off me and grabs my shoulders, pushing me back, exposing my throat. I try to hit it but the blows don’t even phase the thing. It laughs when blood drips down, filling my mouth with the taste of pennies. Its claws dig into my arms. There’s no way to block it, to get away, so I plead, “Don’t touch me! Please-” It cocks its head, listening, an evil blood stained grin spreading across its maw, showing just how wide those jaws can open. A bite at my collarbone as I thrash in its grip. Screaming for it not to. Somehow it works and I immediately twist to get a handhold, trying to drag myself away. Tendrils of awareness sneak in confusing, nonsensical.

The body’s lifeless eyes dart to me, the words burble from the hole in her throat. “Hold her still!”

My words have no more effect. It doesn’t bother laughing, instead pinning my body down, immobilizing me as I cry in terror no better than a child. It licks the exposed skin of my throat. The world is spinning, I can’t breathe, can’t-

The first sting of pain is a tease as it swerves and bites into my arm. Instead of heat, shredding, clawing like I just witnessed, it is an icy lightning splintering through my veins. I’m yanked into consciousness as each heartbeat spreads it, shoving it deeper into my system until my whole body is as numb as my legs. Then the feeling, the horror of It just sort of puffs away, and the noise dies in my throat.

Sweat stings my eyes even before I can force them to open. _Bright. Wrong_. Blurry or not, this is not my cell. _It_ is not actually the thing that’s trapping me against whatever I’m laying on. I’m exhausted, freezing; shivering so hard that shaky blur of sight is dizzying. There is talk of something, some nonsense words, and my name repeated at least a couple times, but even as I try to form a syllable I’m already well on my way back to sleep

}]}———}>

He is so strong…I feel the tensing of his thighs under my hands, feel his fingertips flex in my hair, and knowing even though he could take control at any point he holds back. The aggression, the alpha style he is in his daily life does not transfer over into our intimacies, except in the rarest of cases and only when I’m encouraging it. Not to say I don’t use all those lovely muscles for certain positions and foreplay, because even the level headed me occasionally likes to be swept off her feet like a rescued princess, or get the healing hands of Doctor Hardbod.

The heat is oppressive, and even having just shared a shower sweat trails a lazy path down his chest, filling my nose with the scent that is so familiar.

_After years of helping peel the hot leather off him after an injury or the need for swiftness makes it a necessity it’s become almost comforting. Not to mention the glorious eye candy he and John, later Roy…Even Sara and Thea and Laurel – I may be straight as an arrow-_

I swallow around him to cover the laugh I cause at my mental pun and he groans, the length of him twitching.

_-and in love with this man, but god damn, no one can deny each is gorgeous and watching all those muscles flex and move while they train or work out…_

I moan, feeling the flush those thoughts cause to heat from my chest to cheeks, the flesh nudging just that bit further into my throat before I inch back to get a new breath.  A squeeze of my hands into his thighs, then stealing one away to help stroke the base of him, my name is on his breath like a prayer and I smile up, opening my mouth wide so he can watch as my tongue drags to the dark, swollen, head, lapping a few wide passes over the spongy tip, then inching him back in with an appreciative hum.

_Pretty sure I could line each of them up and ID each by scent of skin and sweat…that sounds creepier as a specific thought than it did as a vague idea, but this scent, I would recognize him._

Nice and slow, to let him enjoy the visual and help stop my gag reflex from kicking in. My hands focus on either stroking just hard enough to get his hips jerking in their attempts to stay still, or playing over abs, butt, thighs, occasional gentle toying with his balls. Fast fluttering licks until his quiet voice pleads my name

I swirl my tongue, taking him deep into my mouth sucking until my mouth I have to use just my pointer and thumb to ring the base of him, swallowing and making noises that force matching pleas and gasped warnings from him. Then, and only then, do I pull back, letting my lips pop away with a loud smacking noise. Steady strokes as I try to make sexy eyes, licking my lips and questioning, “Where do you want to come?” His eyes widen, mouth slightly opening and closing but no words coming out.

_Startled? Tempted?_  

I make a needy noise, trailing my free hand from his leg over to toy down my center line, lips…breasts…belly…I make a small gasp that he echoes right as those fingers dip between my thighs. “My body is your canvas.”

His voice is rough, uncertain, “Inside y-you?”

_Is that really what he wants?_

“Mmm…you want to fuck me? Are you sure you don’t want to make your mark? Anywhere you want, so maybe the next time we’re standing in line you could stare at my face and remember the sight of your pleasure streaked across my lips, or smeared across my chest…across my ass…” I stand slowly, walking back towards the bed, staring at him in the mirror with a grin.

_Where else?_

“My hair? My glasses? My hands? My feet?” I stretch down onto the soft sheets and roll, my legs splaying wide as I extend a hand. He follows, kissing my palm.

“Please- Felicity, please? Just…”

“Some other time then…” I caress his face, and see relief and stark need in his eyes, “Oliver Queen, come love me, fill me with y-”  his lips crush to mine at the invitation, his body lowering, the heat of him guided into me by my legs wrapping round his hips. A slight adjustment and I moan into his mouth, “Oh Oliver!” as he works deep into my body with steady strokes.

He tries to hold back, tries to bring me first but I cheat. My hands and kisses gentle, each thrust is met with a moan of words that are the love he so desperately seeks; each time he starts to pull back for the next thrust is met with a faithfully practiced squeezing of muscles, dragging the most delicious noises out of him. A minute, maybe, and he’s lost, going silent beyond the ragged breaths as I whisper praise that he won’t accept, but still needs to hear.

Oliver eventually eases himself free, rolls to his side and kisses me senseless. His fingers are nimble, and long, and oh-so-talented, slippery with cum as they coax me back to high arousal. A quiet murmur, “I think I left my mark, wouldn’t you agree?” My false gasp turns into a real one as he thumbs slick circles over my clit, sending ripples of electricity along my nerves. “Signed you where I won’t see in public.”

The pleased smugness in his voice makes me smile, but still I tease, “Mr. Queen, are you trying to tempt me into outdoor sex? Because you find another one of those private paradises and I just might have to break another one of my ‘never-ever-sex-rules’ with you.”

“Mmm…” The motions are knowing, a mixed pattern of the things I’ve liked, and he can feel how much I appreciate them, “What was the first?”

“Never get involved with a married man.” I’m so distracted I don’t realize what I said, what I say until my brain clicks on a few seconds after his motions freeze.

“I told you The Division of Foreign-Related Marriage Registration had no records of the marriage, I signed nothing, it was under duress and not consummated. It was a trick, a lie, I _am not_ married! I _was not_ married, and if I had been married it would have been annulled and invalidated already.”

I give an embarrassed attempt at a smile, shifting up a bit, this not exactly the conversation we should be having with him knuckle deep inside me, “I know. I didn’t mean-“

“How about you just close your eyes, lean back, and let me do my job.”

“Your job?”

Oliver slowly starts moving his fingers again, as my eyes seal shut, “Giving you a happy start to what’s going to be a very long, enjoyable night for the both of us.”

The wet noises are obscene, I remember loving those sounds, the skin to skin and the evidence of our pleasures, but for some reason they have me wanting to turn away.

I voice an unhappy noise. _This isn’t right…That’s not what- That’s not what I did…_ The bubble of memory strains, leaving me mostly in but also detached, the sensations hollow echoes. He keeps kissing me, plunging and coaxing with his fingers as a disgust, a fear makes me whimper instead of purr his name. Mine is whispered back and I can feel his hand smoothing the hair off my face…

_But how? How if his fingers are inside me? How if he’s somehow captured both my arms?_

I try to twist away but my body doesn’t listen, following the memory’s script in action – arching my back as he brings me closer to the edge of release, each nerve and vein is a needy throbbing demand, even as my mind keeps screaming, _Wrong! Wrong!_

Those fingers leave me wanting, pressing deep then slipping out, second later tracing slick hot whorls over my lip, his praise instant when I lick at them. I bite at his fingertips as he whispers my name again.

Hands grip the sides of my face and my name is repeated. _Wrong!_

He steals those fingers away, painting heat over my nipples, plucking at them, kissing my pleading noises away. Slicking over my belly, then his body is easing back into place, hard and ready. Careful motions have him messily grinding against my sex; the slow back and forth against my clit has my body thrashing with lashes of pleasure. His voice is thick, “Are you sufficiently painted in my cum?”

I practically sob, needing the orgasm that my body promises is so close. I’ve built it with my actions, he’s built it with his, we’ve built up together. Oliver plunges into me; my hands digging into his skin when he manages hit that perfect angle. He breathes against my mouth, “Mmm, right _there_? Like _that_?” and with a slight shift makes sure to repeat it over and over.

A haggard shout, “Felicity?” _Wrong!_ My body freezes from the inside out, numbing…

His hand is relentless smashed between us and dedicated solely to my pleasure, the combination… “That’s it honey, get there for me, let me feel it.”

The scent of him, taste of him, press of him surrounding me is right, but the feeling is wrong.

He groans, his body tense in the attempt to keep his thrusts that perfect way, “Yes! _Oh yessss, just like that_! Oh Felicity, ride it out, keep it going….”

I can’t feel the release he’s praising me for. Everything is going pins and needles, prickly numb, like I’m being washed away. I can’t move, not my hands, not my legs, and it is sending panic through me. Eyelids a struggle to flutter open, because I can still smell him, still feel those calloused hands on my face they’re wrong, not supposed to be there, but they’re his…

Strained eyes meet mine, but they’re ringed with dark circles rather than that dazed bliss they should be filled with.

Baffling tears threaten to fall from mine.

He says my name, asks if I can hear him. I try to touch his face but nothing moves.

“I…” The words struggle out, it’s important though…something is wrong…. “can’t feel…” _My…_

A wave of unconsciousness drags even my thoughts away.

}]}———}>

My fingers move across the keyboard, on and on and on. As much as I type it’s wiped away each time the cursor moves down to the next line. I’m bored, so very bored, but I just have to type this, just have to finish this, just have to keep going. _Why do my characters keep disappearing before I can finish?_

I get mad, slamming the device against the table until it breaks, only to find it whole, back in place after throwing it against the door. _Fine. Maybe this one will work._ Another line of typing disappears and I scream in frustration. Again I try to destroy the plastic that toys with me, again it does nothing. I try typing faster, slower, typing nonsense as my hands drag back and forth.

Nothing.

Nada.

Zero progress as useless tears track down my face.

Keep trying…

}]}———}>

I jerk into instant alertness, scattering nightmares, memories, and dreams for the here and now. Blinking, trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes and feel for my glasses, looking down my arms when that intention fails. A slight tug, as if the first must have been a mistake.

“You ok?” The person closing his book asks quietly, drawing my attention.

_Oliver? How?_ A jumble of discordant memories pick at my brain. _Breakout, they broke me out and I…I did something?_ I nod, “These-” The word comes out as a hoarse sound, a couple second later I manage, “necessary?”

“Yes.”He wets his lower lip and I notice a slight bruise at the corner.

“Did I hurt…,” _you,_ “anyone?”

He moves over, gently takes my hand and starts pulling free the thick band circling the wrist. “You two have had a rough couple days coming down from whatever it is they had you on. Kristen is still trying to figure out what they gave you, but it looks like something proprietary and we haven’t found any information in the files you grabbed, or at least nothing yet.”

_That’s right, I waged digital war on ARGUS. They’re decimated, destroyed…dead._ “I need a computer, I need to see-“

“No.” The second restraint comes off, but he doesn’t offer further explanation.

“Back to one word answers?”

His head motions to a small tray, a thermos of something, a sealed bottle, and a strip of pillboxes are waiting, “You feel up to eating?”

_Food!_ I reach out a hand. He jostles, opens, and passes me the nutrition shake, label plastered with calories and protein in a vibrant font.

My hands are still shaky so my movements are purposefully slow, calculated. I take a sip, start to gag at the richness, and an odd clump that didn’t break up in the thick milkyness, but manage to turn it into a cough. “Wow that’s sweet…” _And tastes like chemicals_.

“Try the bone broth.” He swaps the bottle for the thermos, again opening then passing it to me. He catches a look of the grimacing face I make at the name, “It’s a trend, or was about a year ago here and in Star City. Easy to digest.”

I sniff the contents warily, gauging my stomach’s reaction to a mouthful before taking another. It’s better than the shake.

“So…?” His voice trails off.

“So.” I don’t know what question he wants to ask.

“You said some things, yesterday, last night, this morning, while you were sleeping…”

My response is quick, vaguely remembering muddled and mixed fragments from a handful of the dreams. “They were nightmares, I’m sure I said a lot of things.”

His hand fists in the blanket and I find myself startled to realize just how close he is. “They weren’t all imagined. You said some of them before, I remember-“

“I don’t- I could say anything, statistically I’ll have said…monkeys with typewriters…I can’t control dream speech.”

I take another sip of the not-but-should-be-soup and we stare. A shout from the other room accompanied by pained yelling… _howling_ …has him mouthing a curse and saying, “Let me help deal with that before it becomes a bigger issue…” as he quickly exits.

There is shouting, crashing, the noises setting me on edge, driving that instinct to hide. But this room is just as sterile as my cell, and this luxurious-by-comparison bed offers no refuge under it.

_It’s nothing._ I repeat the thought while wiping sweaty hands on the blanket.

My ability to stay in place is destroyed as someone, something, ghosts past the open doorframe just as the lights flicker. I don’t think, I move. Managing to get myself to the floor is not graceful, but I have no one here to impress, even if I did getting to the mechanized chair across the room would still be more important than my pride. It would be embarrassing how much effort it’s taking to pull myself towards it.

“What are you doing?”

My body is stupid in its reaction, hands stilling, freezing in place, a primal instinct kicks in that if I don’t move it might not be able to see me.

“Felicity?”

Shaky breaths as I try to convince myself that there’s no way _It_ could be here, and if it were Oliver would not be so calmly standing there, casting a shadow over me. _What’s a good excuse? What is a good reason for leaving the bed and not waiting…?_ “Bathroom.”

He huffs, asks if he can lift me, and waits for my nod before doing so. I let myself be carried there, past the room still sparking and smoking along a row of machines, where I see Kevin curled up into himself, hands covered in chunky gloves that stretch up to his elbows. Kristin is there, stroking his hair, talking quietly.

Oliver takes a handful more steps, another twenty feet to the bathroom before I ask, “What happened?”

“He had it rough in there; he keeps going back to the worst of it when he’s dreaming.”

_That must be why he’s so focused on whatever I said._ “I’m not him. They didn’t hurt me.” His grip tightens. “Oliver, they didn’t touch me.”

}]}———}>

I am given a somewhat passable bill of health – enough at least that I’m able to leave Team Flash to care for their own, and not my sorry self too. They had managed a pair of glasses for me, which helps me feel more human.

What I didn’t realize was that Oliver had already spent hours lining up doctors visits for me. Someone else apparently took his bike back to Star City while I was out of it, so I am treated to a long limo ride and a list that spans pages of scrolling in Oliver’s phone. As he covers the itinerary of the next couple days I get quieter, each new person is listed off with a time and purpose.

It doesn’t take him long to notice. When he does the phone is tucked away, a few questions are asked attempting to break the tense silence.

My answers revolve around the truth and what I already said. There’s nothing really to tell, I wasn’t hurt, wasn’t tortured, I helped take down HELIX, I worked on improving the ARGUS security, I didn’t realize how long it had been…

}]}———}>

“Home.” The longing is naked in my voice as I blurt out the answer. “I want to go home.”

A breath, the pause long enough to show his scramble for thoughts, the words will be truth but how much of the truth? “I’m…not sure there’s an easy way to put this, but the loft was destroyed in a fire about three months ago.”

It’s stupid, because it wasn’t really mine, but it felt like it, and this feels like a part of me was just destroyed. “Oh.”

“Thea stayed there for a bit after she moved back out of my new place, but since she got married they found somewhere a little more rural.”

_Fire._ “Was…was anyone hurt?”

“No, it was in the middle of the day, wiring issue in the whole building, it was a complete loss…We can find you somewhere you like, but for now I was thinking you might want to stay at my building…at my place.” He lists out the benefits in a fast tumble of words, it has security, it was fitted for when he was using a wheelchair and through his recuperation, convenient location…

He doesn’t see my nod and keeps searching for reasons, when things get personal, ‘I know what it’s like, to wake up terrified, not sure where you are, certain whatever horrors-‘ I cut him off. “That’s fine.”


	14. On to the Next One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not clever with chapter titles and I'm un-beta'd.
> 
> Probably will be next weekend by the time the next goes up - need to flesh out a couple bits and reread it.

There is a secured underground garage, the elevator only goes to the lobby, no chance of just slipping by the three uniformed guards that wait there. Oliver gives a brief explanation while moving us from the car, of it being a new city-owned accommodation for the Mayor. “When the news broke that we has been trapped, nearly killed by Adrian Chase…apparently the electorate felt it necessary to have additional security measures put in place around some of us, those whose positions have been hard to fill, or keep filled.” The words are quiet, just for me as he nods with a cheery mask of a smile at the guards. Thea meets us in the lobby with a wheelchair, since the one from STAR Labs wouldn’t fit in the car, and I practically dive in, hands shaking as that small bit of control is returned.

She gives me a brief but tight hug, that I do a great job not freaking out over, especially after just having had the extended contact of being carried from the car, up the elevator ride, then over to her in slightly less than two hundred steps and three endless minutes. It doesn’t hurt that my hands are on the wheels of the chair. Thea gives him a playful punch in the shoulder “Ollie, you look like you’re going to sleep until next weekend, so don’t forget about the council meeting tomorrow at nine, I put the bag on the couch, and I moved _one_ thing out of place, good luck figuring it out. Only hint – it’s not in the closet you kept the wheelchair.”

Moving myself around during their exchange, an inch here, a turn and inch there, getting the feel of it and what kind of glide it gives. I try to tune out the conversation but normal speaking voices still sound like shouting in my new absence of silence. “Want me to bring over dinner? Or I can stick around with her while you’re off Mayor-ing tomorrow, or-“

He pulls her into a tight hug, “Felicity actually has a doctor’s appointment that might run a little long in about an hour, we just needed to get the chair and to switch cars, but tomorrow would be great.“

_My first taste of freedom and they’re making my choices for me._ “I’ll be fine alone.” The Queen siblings turn, the smile on his face only tightening, I stare down at my knees rather than look at Thea. “I mean, thank you, but I-”

“Let’s talk about it on the way to your appointment.”

I know that voice. That’s a _the-decision-has-been-made_ voice. My hands tighten on the chair coasting back a tiny bit. Oliver whispers something to Thea, like I can’t hear him saying not to worry that I just need time, and he gets a nod in return. Half a second and he grasps the handles behind my shoulders and with a card tap at the access pad steers us back into the elevator down.

}]}———}>

I lose the _discussion_. The list of reasoning he lays out would be stupid to argue, my comments that I don’t need a babysitter quickly picked apart in that I am neither a child, nor Thea a chaperone, and the fact that it’s a familiar face who wants to keep me company and be there if I need anything in my new surroundings. “You can watch a movie, you can sleep, we’re your friends, your family, and you’re just going to have to deal with the fact that you have been missed.”

There is nothing to say to that, nothing logical at least, so I shut up. He drives and I stare out the window the rest of the way to the appointment.

The waiting room is empty, not that we stay there for more than the time it takes to sign me in before being escorted into a fairly sizable waiting room. “The doctor will be with you in just a couple minutes.”

It is more than a couple minutes, and each tick of the clock strains my nerves. It’s too noisy, the sound of Oliver’s breathing matching mine, then as mine picks up the off-rhythm is grating, the muffle of conversation seeping in from the hallway, even the clock…two years of mostly silence makes each sound loud. I keep glancing at the door, expecting it to be kicked in, seeing it in my mind’s eye in horrible detail.

After the third time Oliver takes a few paces and blocks the door with his body. I can see the questions churning around in him, each frustrated movement that is almost perfectly masked, the little noises as he keeps glancing at the clock. The lack of words, _not silence_ , is finally broken by a quiet, “Please, at least be honest with her Felicity.”

I let the wheels glide me back and forth, “I’ve been telling the truth, wasn’t planning on stopping.”

He huffs out a breath, “They hurt you.”

 “What?” I force a scoff, “No. I went with them. I was in a small room, by myself, given boring food, and I did boring work… There was a bed, and shower provided, I can’t say that about the first few apartments I rented. None of that was hurting me.” _Starving yes, hurting no._

“ _Felicity_ , we’re just trying to help.“

“ _Oliver_ , I’m telling the truth! Almost nothi-, no one touched me after the whole transportation thing, and Barry was the first one in a very long time when he showed up. There were guards outside my room, always, I was pretty safe, mostly, I mean it was a place full of horrible people, so there were a few…other than It breaking in to-“ I grimace, trying to shove down the image, “to kill Doctor F...I was scared a few times, but no one except the doctor touched me and she was…It…” My throat is tight and the words come out a whisper, “she died early on, I think.”

“It?” I stiffly shrug. He repeats the one word question.

_Of course he won’t let that go, you slipped up, you mentioned it._ A shudder claws down my spine. Clearing my throat, I fill the word with as much of a we-are-not-discussing-that-thing as I can, “ _It._ ”

He brushes a hand over his face and takes a deep breath, “You know I’m here to talk, or listen, or whatever you need.”

Twisting the sleeves of the sweatshirt, letting it wrap almost painfully tight as my voice fills with as much snark as a whisper allows, “Oh, like you talked about your five year _vacation?_ ” _Hypocrite._ “Thanks but, at least right now, no thanks.”

That shuts him up for a few seconds, then he steps towards me and offers a tentative hand. I hesitate then place mine across his palm. Oliver crouches down so we’re at eye level, “You still haven’t asked to, do you want to call your mom?”

The thought twists all sorts of feelings inside me, “Oh my god no! I’ll…soon, just not yet. Don’t tell her I’m back, yet. Let me get through the checkups first, then I can… not yet.” I don’t want her to see me like this. There’s a knock and my hands clench as tight as I’m physically capable, my entire body going tense just waiting for the hinges to give, the handle to break. Oliver makes a smothered noise before I realize and try to force my fingers off him. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t…sorry.”

His other hand covers mine for a second, “It’s no problem. Ready?” My nod must look more certain than I am, because he stands, “Come in.”

}]}———}>

It’s my primary care doctor, or I guess at this point it’s my old doctor so I should be comfortable with her. She has always been no-nonsense, so it takes one glance at me before she orders Oliver out to the waiting room and shutting the door behind him.

Her voice is full of distain. “So, I guess the _therapeutic rehabilitation facility_ he told the police you went to was something else?”

She’s seen me at my lows, and I’ve only heard that tone from her right after I got shot when she was checking how it was healing, immediately followed by an apology. I know that tone is out of concern, but it’s hard to do anything but be defensive. I nod, offering no excuses.

She starts taking my vitals, with a frown, “Anything you say to me is confidential. If you want I won’t take anything but mental notes, but I need some information to know how you got to this state since you were here last. The charts he sent over didn’t show-“

_Charts? What charts?_ “What?”

“Mr. Queen, he sent over some standard labs and some not so standard tests from a couple days ago.”

_Oh…_ “No notes, please.” I take a breath trying to think of how to phrase things. “It was…it was a prison, of sorts.”

“Of sorts? Do you mean a psychiatric facility? Deep breath in for me.”

It doesn’t matter that she tried to warm the small disc, as soon as she slips it under my shirt and presses it to my back goose bumps surge across my skin and the chill runs deep. “No.” I breathe in until my lungs strain and I exhale. _I don’t want anyone to go somewhere like that._ “A cell. I did things and it was where I belonged, or thought I should be.”

“Again please. Do you still feel like you belong there?”

Letting the next breath out I try to make my voice calm rather than the anxiety that’s creeping “I’m not going back.”

The questions come one after another, no judgment, no pity, just one after another with equal passion as asking someone what time it is, the same as she always does, encouraging fast and honest answers. Have I been sick? Physical complaints? Concerns? Medications? And the test said it was made of…? The cravings you’re having for it, how strong? All the time? Any better today than yesterday? Eating? How much? Any physical things impeding my ability to eat? Sleeping? How long each night? Keep a log and update me next week. Concentration? Fatigue? Breathing? Muscle weakness? Outlook on life? Thoughts of self harm? Bladder function? Bowel regularity? Menstrual regularity? Before the weight loss? Birth control? T”hey may have been putting it in that vitamin you mentioned, I remember an article I read a while ago about a group that said they did that to prevent unwanted pregnancies, lessen cleanup of where they held their captives, and to further disorient them by removing that way of tracking timelines.”

I hear the question in that and answer before she asks it as the next, “They didn’t touch me, I haven’t had sex since…” _Don’t think about that, neither the time or place, focus! Basic truth, now!_  “before...that place.” _I still don’t have a name for where I was._

“Mr. Queen mentioned planned appointments with specialists, you’ll want to see a nutritionist sooner rather than later and get a menu plan worked out. Even a virtual consultation tonight would be beneficial.”

The idea of the number of familiar and unfamiliar doctors makes me uncomfortable, just being here in this small room with her makes me feel like my skin is crawling, sweat has been itching all over since starting my responses, “I’ll mention it.”

“Until then light foods, moderation, as you’ve mentioned already experiencing, if you push your system too fast it will reject the very things it need. And you’ll need a multivitamin, a prenatal if you are-“

I back up, “I just said there’s no chance- I haven’t- I’m _not_ pregnant!”

“I was going to say, _if you want to cut down on the number of additional_ supplements. _But_ if that is something you two are planning in the near future, then you should definitely take the prenatal and I would recommend giving yourself a minimum of the next few months before actively trying so your body has time to start-

“We’re-, we’re-, we’re not, no. That…no.”

“Ok, you’re not. But if you were…” She lets the words hang there for a moment before pressing the button to lower the exam table, “Please put on this gown, wait for assistance getting up I don’t want you pushing yourself beyond your limits right now. I’ll give you a few moments to get changed and we can get through the physical assessment.”

I look at the pale blue folded pile, it looks so much flimsier than the second pair of sweats that I was given in Central City. “The doctor there checked me over, that eval should be in the papers Oliver gave you.”

She points her folded stethoscope at me, “I am your doctor, they may have done what they could, but you’ve been coming to me for nearly a decade, as your doctor I’m telling you, not asking you, I need to check you.”

“Can you do it when I’m wearing these? I…” _How do I say what doesn’t even make sense in my head?_

She helps me up and talks me through every action and observation with the same respectful bluntness she has for everything. I do get scolded when the pill bottle packed with the small very temporary anxiety pills falls out of the my pocket when I shift as directed, but I’ve only had them the few times they dosed me, why would I list them in medications I’m taking?

}]}———}>

_There is a sharp noise._

They did it!?

_We break apart as the clapping continues, “I was always a sucker for romance.”_ No. No! _The voice is obviously Chase, but the full helmet muffles and makes it sound faintly Vader-y, the clear visor doing nothing but emphasizing the madness in his eyes. He throws something hand sized down at us, Oliver somehow makes a dizzying jump into a crouch, deflects the flimsy bit of whatever from landing between us, turning it over in his hands, assessing it’s potential of being something that goes boom, I guess before dropping it when determining it poses no immediate threat. He makes a far less fluid than normal move to grab his bow and quiver, notching an arrow. I don’t miss the tremors, or the way he keeps blinking, trying to focus as Chase moves back and forth somehow._

_Chase gives another of his stupid ominous laughs, “You don’t get to die before I say you can Oliver. Though I will say, watching you slowly suffocating yourself or should that be watching you distract yourselves from slowly suffocating has put a certain fun in my day.” He gives me a wink and I curl, trying to get out of his view. He laughs and lobs something at us. Oliver knocks it to the ground with his bow. As the case hits the ground, the clasp breaks and a heavy metal cylinder clangs and rolls, bumping into my shoe. I look back up as Oliver pulls me towards the wall._

How is he still on his feet?

_“Let her go…It’s me you wa-“ A wheezing cough, “want to hurt.”_

_“No, Oliver. No. No. You don’t understand me at all…It’s you I want to destroy. Barbie there, she’s right behind you in line. We all know you don’t have the brains to fuck up my life with a computer. You shouldn’t have been able to do that.” I can’t tell if he’s pointing a gun or just his finger at me. “This’ll be a fun night.”_

_Chase laughs, turning his focus to me, “Really, it’s just great of you two to do the dying I love yous, it’ll make this hurt that much more. Always thought you were weak, a little whiney background noise, assumed you weren’t strong. Taking what you want looks good on you Ms. Smoak.” He grins so wide his eyes crinkle at the edges, “Good for you girl, always_ pegged _you for a freak, but then with what I found on your computer…did Oliver tell you I was there in your apartment with you? My, my, you look good in_ command…Oh _.” He gives a short pause._

Did he…did he just… _My skin crawls._

_“You son of a bitch!” Oliver growls out and I grab at his arm as Chase laughs and yells out another taunt. Touching him, trying to get his attention, hissing his name when that fails, “Oliver!” His eyes meet mine. “He’s trying to distract you. Ignore it, his crap, focus. There must be another way he got in …”_

_A handful of arrows are flying at us, Oliver can’t move fast enough and a couple tease and nick my skin. Then as abruptly as he appeared, Chase is just gone._

_“You…ok?”_

_I nod, knowing better than to ask him the same right now, need to think, “What…is…that?”_

_“What?”_

}]}———}>

I end up gasping for air, caught up in the memory, while jerking awake before I recognize being back in the car.

“You ok?” comes from the front.

Rubbing my eyes, looking around, “How long? How long was I asleep?”   _I barely ever revisited that time trapped when I was…trapped in my cell. Why are those memories forcing themselves back now?_

“Not long.”

Neither of us answered the other’s question, then I notice the outside isn’t changing, we’re parked. “Where are we?”

“Back at my place. You ready to see where you’ll be staying?”


	15. Another Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd. 
> 
> Thank you very much for the comments and kudos, they're always appreciated.

I keep my hands tight on the wheelchair as I look around the exposure of the main room, lots of windows, curtains drawn across half the wall but when the entire thing is made of reinforced glass and doors to a huge balcony it feels wide open. I force myself to make the small talk commentary that no longer feels natural. Once I start it’s easier, if only slightly delayed when I have to think of my responses rather than have them flow out. All those babbling words I used to say, that I was teased for, that reassured my... my team, my friends, trying to find those is like mining through the fog in my brain.

Talking and talking, Oliver is so full of words they spill out but thankfully I don’t have to hold up the other side of the chitchat. He shows me the security system, the two separate keypads, the panic alarm triggers that have never been used, the one exit out the balcony not covered by the cameras that is used almost nightly, the very tight, but wheelchair friendly hidden elevator chute he had privately installed in the pantry, easily accessed by sliding the light switch to the side and pressing the inset button. Open kitchen, bathroom that is studded with grip bars and a second entry, it only takes a few minutes before he points at the wide doorway, “The second master is right over here, it’s still set up from when I was…when I used it.”

I didn’t even think, had just accepted what he said... "I'd be taking your room?"  _I should go, find somewhere to-!_

"It’s the guest room at the moment,” he gestures at the stairs leading up, “I stay up there now that Thea moved out.” Another door is pointed to, “The smaller one right there is where William…he started staying here, just for part of his school breaks, some long weekends, but-“

_You don’t have to try and explain your life to me._ He knows that, should know it, but instead of saying that I interrupt his constant stream of words with a choppy, “Good. You wanted that. To be in his life…As a dad.”

“Yeah, I wanted…“ He looks at me, at William’s room, then gives a tight nod, “Yes.”

I make fists around the sweatpants, trying to find the right words, “How does that work with…everything? You can’t just leave him here at night. Does he know? Does…” _Does Samantha stay here too? Am I going to be a third…third and fourth wheel?_

“We’re still figuring things out. He knows I’m his father, the Mayor, but the other guy? No, for now I think he just assumes I have work emergencies, though the team usually picks up most of the night job when he’s over. ”

I take the silence that stretches after that to look in the room, just like most of this place it is nearly empty. Another question niggles deep in my brain, an itch reminding me of another time. “Are the boxes here, or in storage…” I trail off at the look of confusion on his face, "The boxes I packed. My things?" The corners of his mouth turn down. I try to force my voice to sound teasing but it falls flat, and the smile probably looks as false and awkward as it feels on my face, "You didn't use them for target practice, right?"

"There were no boxes. After…after the surgery I asked John go to your place. Everything was gone, and with the note, we thought you had gone off the grid.” _Everything’s gone? Everything…_ “We didn’t know…had no reason to suspect…” He paces, footsteps loud on the wood floors. “For the first six months we left the place untouched, let you have the space you asked for. I was distracted, we were all distracted, you were gone, I was still struggling to get back up to fighting fit, then…” Clenching his hand and squeezing his eyes tight he forces out, “John was coping with his injuries, with his family’s injuries.”

I feel those words like deep wounds being hit, tearing open to leave raw holes in my chest. _My fault._

His voice holds so much hidden pain, grief, "After what happened we had a new focus. When HELIX went down, your digital fingerprints in that mess, we thought you were surfacing again, but you never did. When Barry came to us needing your help we reached out, searched for any sign, but thought you were just that good, so Curtis did his best. Your mom kept getting the voicemails..."

_John, Lyla, what about Thea? Or Curtis, what made him so much angrier? What about Renee, Dina, what about-_ "What else did I miss?" I navigate around the room, glancing at the closet – occupied with only some off season jackets, a very large Henley, a pair of running shorts, some familiar looking PT equipment broken down to parts, and a wheelchair sized dust cover, no dust in sight. A quick push of the wheels backs me out, lets me stare at the wide windows.

He scrubs a hand over the stubble that covers his jaw, "A lot of bad, and worse."

_Drop it. You don’t need to know. You aren’t part of them anymore, you killed-_ I mentally flinch, I don’t think I physically do it. _It’s your fault you don’t know, didn’t help._ "Are the sheets clean?" _Doesn't matter unless they're crawling with bugs which he’d never let happen, or stained with...stains. Leave it, that’s not your life, it’s his, and his business._  I’m going to sleep for the next two days, then figure out my next moves.

He moves a step back towards the hallway, "They are…But I can change them to a fresh set-."

"You don't have to…” _Take care of me? Do domestic?_ “I’m just tired.”

“Why don’t you shower and get ready, I’ll…”

His voice tunes out as I’m lost in my thoughts. _How do I remind him that I don’t have anything to get ready into? Bright side, focus, maybe there is something Thea forgot ...some things…somewhere…or I can wear his shirt. I can’t wear his shirt. I need socks, and underwear, and a bra, and pants, and-_  

I hear Oliver say my name questioningly and I look over to where he’s standing, "What?"

"Do you want me to pick up some basics for you while I stock the embarrassingly empty fridge? I could be back by the time you finished your shower."

I look from thing to thing in the unfamiliar room and shake my head "No, I’m fine. I want to keep these on." I finger the soft not scratchy, blue not tan, sweats not uniform that is the smallest connection with Central City. _These will be fine. I will buy my own things. I should still have money in my accounts, right?_

"I-" he pauses then nods.  "Ok. I can order something to be delivered? Your doctor gave me a list of foods that should be ok."

_Not necessary, I'm fine, all calm now, I'm sure that you are busy_. "If you want." _What? That wasn’t…_

"Yeah...” He hesitates at the doorframe. “Really good to have you back Felicity."

I need to respond, I know I need to respond, I stare down managing a slightly delayed, "Good to be back."

I pass on the shower, just like I have since first seeing the small, exposed shower in the cell _two years_ ago. Instead I do a fast mostly under the clothes, washcloth scrub down in the en-suite, though having hot water and a plush washcloth are foreign pleasures. Seeing no spares in the vanity, I follow with a finger-brush of my teeth, scraping my tongue with the short edges of fingernails to scour any faint flavors, either real or imagined.

When I wheel myself back out the room is bathed in bright golden sunlight. I knew I missed it, the warm glow rather than constant cold fluorescence, I didn’t realize how much until seeing that hints teasing at the start of the first sunset I’ll have laid eyes on in years.

Focusing on my surroundings, trying to memorize the space, I hear the TV muffled in the other room, the noise feeling loud even though I know it’s turned low. There’s nothing else to do in here but I don’t think I can handle more interaction tonight, my nerves already grated from mass of people and places and changes thrust upon me.

The wheelchair, customized for Oliver, is bigger than the ones I’ve used, so getting onto the bed is different. I have to park it at the end rather than the side, then pull myself up towards the… _Pillows! So many… There must be at least five_! The mattress feels huge compared to the twin I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping on, and the springy give instead of the hard thinness that guaranteed aches when waking. _Stop thinking about it. Stop comparing. You’re here now, you took care of them, they won’t be able to do that again._ I shove most of the pillows beside me as a faux wall and focus on the feel of filtered sunshine. The soft blanket under my hands is a luxury that brings tears to my eyes, I’ve been so cold, what would I have done for this a week ago?

I’m tired, to-the-bone exhausted, but I want to see the sunset. I yawn just as the doorbell rings, the soft sounds of Oliver shuffling around and a brief conversation. His quiet footfalls head towards this room and I shut my eyes just before there is a light knock, a moment of silence and the door clicks. He queries my name and the scent of food permeates the room. I don’t want to vomit in front of someone again today so I continue pretending to be asleep, letting the yogurt I managed to eat in the car act as… _Lunner, linner, luncher?_ The door quietly closes again as I mentally debate my lunch-dinner word mash, and somewhere in my stillness I fall into dreams.

}]}———}>

My grasp of a fitful sleep is shredded by the muffled sound of low rumbling. _Wrong! Something is wrong!_ Something heavy presses down on me, wraps around my arms and chest. _Something else…dark!_ Flexing my hands, trying to look at them only to realize that my eyes are open but the darkness hides the room.

_No no no! Where are the emergency lights? The alarms? Why don’t the guards have their flashlights on? What if someone already took them out! Hide from It!_

I pull myself using the edge of the bed, launching forward while reaching for my wheelchair, only to meet open air, a shriek escaping and muffled when crashing my hand into something that was or is now broken into sharpness. Disoriented in the fall I land hard on my side I try to find space under the bed but it’s blocked off. Loud thumping sounds from somewhere nearby. _It heard!_ There is a small gap between the bed and whatever is beside it, so that is my next attempt to pull myself into any hiding spot, not knowing how else my cell was changed while I slept.

_Quiet. Quiet! Hold your breath! Don’t let it hear that you’re here._ Shoving my aching hand under my armpit…it doesn’t feel right. _Something is wrong with my uniform._

“Felicity?!” It’s a question, a demand from a voice, muffled and distant but I know that voice, it doesn’t belong here. _It’s not. It’s in your head. It’s a trap. They accepted your admission. They had no interest in him_

The thumping, pounding is close. _Don’t let it get in. The door is stronger. The guards-_ The door flings open, light pouring in, as blinding as it is familiar. I bite into my lip so hard I taste blood to keep from screaming, feeling for anything to defend myself, grasping the sharpness from the floor. _Only the one has ever managed to get in, how did this one get through? Are there others?_ I throw an arm up to block my face from the teeth and claws and-

 “Felicity!”

It grabs hold of me and my nerves shatter, some wordless terrified sound breaks from me.

_The weight of her and It have me trapped. The doctor screams, and screams, her fight digging elbows and claws into me. My own strangled begging for help from any guards that might be able to hear making It laugh and snarl around a mouthful of the woman’s flesh for my screams to be louder. It breaks something, I can hear the snap but she can’t possibly make noises any worse than what is tearing from her throat. It is more animal than person, something feral, terrifying, literally bloodthirsty. The shredding and growling, the garbled repetition that she is a feast, that she deserves this, that I need to be louder unless I want to be next or next sooner-_

 

I strike out blindly as the grip tightens on my arms, “ _Felicity_ it’s me!”

My hands are shaking, still focusing vision spotting with the threat of passing out. I finally gasp in a breath, as I’m held tight. “NO! Please, don’t!” _Shut up, shut up! Not a word! Not a sound!_

An out of place scent fills my nose…spicy, woody, familiar. “Felicity, look at me, it’s me. Oliver.”

_No, that’s impossible, they would never put him in…here…_ I blink as he just holds my arms in an iron grip to keep me still.

My ears roar with the sound of my pulse, drowning everything else out, the taste of blood in my mouth making my stomach cramp. _It’s here, ready to hurt and shred. Too exposed. Nowhere to hide._

I read the words on his lips, my body not willing to believe my senses that it’s Oliver and not _It_. “You’re here. It’s me. You’re safe. Deep breaths. Focus on my voice…”

The seconds tick by agonizingly slowly, I’m not calming down, not able to do anything but panic. The room swims, I feel freezing and burning up at the same time. _This isn’t my cell. How is he here? Where is It?_

He-It, I’m not sure which, lets go of one trembling wrist, though I’m still not able to yank away from the remaining grip of strong fingers. In one fast move he manages to grab at the pill bottle that is on the floor in the mix of broken lamp parts. _NoNoNo! Off! Just get off!_

Oliver pops the top off, ignoring the clatter as some hit the hardwoods and grabs one. “Open.” I try, and fail to push his hand off my arm, shallow breaths moving in and out of my nose my jaw stays clenched tight. “Felicity, open your mouth.” I crush my eyes shut, trying and failing to tear his remaining hand off my arm. “It’s me…Oliver…Just open…Please honey, stop making that noise and take the damn pill.” With unwavering fingers he pushes the small tab past my lips, it takes a rough drag along my teeth, his fingernail grazing the inside of my cheek before he manages to work it in the tight gap just behind my molars. Just as fast he is back to immobilizing both wrists again before the pill even starts to crumble apart.

It dissolves around my tongue, disgusting, but fast, almost like a bitter baby aspirin. Chilling lethargy dives across my limbs. My heartbeat pulses down from a flutter to something less…

“That’s it.” _Oliver’s place…not back there…_

As I am artificially calming, he loosens his grasp, prying my fingers open and takes the broken shard of lamp from my hand. I want it back, I want it back _bad_. A comment sinks in as he keeps touching, inspecting, wiping at the skin, apparently my grip is not strong enough to have done more than superficial damage.

He lifts me, sets me on the bed, grabbing the twisted blanket from the floor and carrying the bundle with him  while moving off somewhere. Numbly I sit there, staring at my red hand until he comes back with a wet washcloth and a fistful of bandages when only one would have served the need. It is quick work. Oliver pauses, saying something, then looks up at my face. His hands are off. “You ok?”

The forced chattiness fights with my uncooperative voice, after a few stutters a jumble of words manage to be halfway discernible, or at least the “Tired” is.

“Let’s change your shirt, then you can go back to sleep.

My eyes manage to meet his, “No.”

He uses the washcloth, stained pink, to sweep the lamp pieces over towards a waste bin. “There are shards sticking to it.”

“I don’t…I don’t have…” Something to change into? Anything underneath? Don’t want the uniform back? The thoughts escapes me in a handful of fragmented words .

He reaches for the back of his neck, tugging then pushes a fistful of t-shirt at me, “Wear this for now, I’ll get Thea to bring some things for you in the morning.” I stare at it, then him, ridiculously feeling more vulnerable by _him_ being half dressed.

_Cold._ Shaking my head, my arms start moving to fold around each other, to keep the sweatshirt tighter, but his hand ends up tangled in the mix holding a wrist once more.

“Hold on, you’re going to get cut up doing that. If you’re cold I can get another one, another layer or turn up the heat…Please, just-”

  _Don’t…don’t touch…I don’t…_ I can feel my thoughts slipping past my lips no matter how hard I try to stay silent. His hand releases its grip on me and the shirt.

Scrubbing over his face, his voice sounds so tired, “I won’t. Please, _please_ , Felicity, just change out of that thing before you get hurt.”

It takes a long time with both of us sitting in stalemate, only when the ice starts fading from my fingertips am I able to force them to the hem of what I wear. The fabric is bulky, heavy, and I have to rasp out a “Help,” to get it over my head when my shoulder doesn’t want to flex that way.

Oliver manages to touch only the shirt, he doesn’t look away but stays silent, concern on his face deepening when throwing the crumple of fabric towards the door then helping ease the tee over my bare skin. I do look away, focusing on the dark window. They had let me change alone at STAR Labs, and between the doctors I had only had clothes shifted rather than removed, the sight from the mirror when I was alone in the bathroom let me know just how disgusting I look. I focus hard on my actions and not thinking in order to stay silent while the drug still has sway.

As soon as my arms push into place he’s moving, grabbing the lonely long sleeve from the closet and offering it as a second layer. Just as slowly I drag it on too, then shift in the silence that hangs in the room the soft warmth of the clothes still unfamiliar and warring with the churning feelings of exhaustion, terror, and misery swirling in my head and body.

His voice is quiet, obviously frustrated, obviously uncertaion, “Are you…Can I get…is there anything I can do to help?”

The words are slow, “I need light. What happened to my lights?”

Oliver looks up at the ceiling fan, then the door, finally the window in quick succession, “You didn’t turn them on? The room gets a strong afternoon sun. ” When he flicks the switch suddenly the aching tightness in my chest eases off a little and it feels like I can take a halfway decent breath surrounded by brightness. “Do you want gloves? Socks?”

I look at him confused, “What?”

He doesn’t move closer, he probably doesn’t realize he’s gripping the doorframe like an anchor, “Your hands are freezing, do you want gloves? Or a thicker pair of socks? To help you stay warmer.”

_I can’t feel my feet._

“I know, it doesn’t mean…Can I get you gloves and socks? I have to get a blanket anyway.”

I push down on my knees so my feet get covered by the tangled sheet that stayed on the bed, “Your home, do what….” I shrug instead of finishing the words.

Pinching the bridge of his nose he takes a deep breath, “Felicity, I’m trying very hard to give you the space you obviously want and do what you need me to do, not what I want to do, so can I please get you something?”

I end up with a cleaned floor and small groups of _things_. The gloves, socks, blanket, but also soup, a vitamin, noise cancelling headphones, he’s going back for a third trip when I quietly say, “Enough.”

It works.

He puts one of the panic pills on the nightstand with a plastic tumbler of water, “If you need anything, _anything_ , just yell. I’ll be…I’ll be on the couch until Thea gets here.”

Left alone, in the bright lights, surrounded by the smell of Oliver in these oversized shirts I manage to fall back asleep, and this time I don’t wake up until the day outside is bright.


	16. Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill by now if you've read this far - unbeta'd. Right aligned and italicized for most memories.
> 
> Thank you for reading and have a great day.

Even knowing she’s out there by her faint humming I still give a startled flinch when I open the door and Thea is sitting on the couch, staring up at me from the phone in her hand. A pile of bags and hangers with clothes fill the space next to her.

 I had downed another one of those panic pills upon waking up, nearly immobilized by fear, not recognizing the changed surroundings. After who knows how long the events of the past couple days made themselves known to my brain, and the small circle was just sitting there as temptation. The cheat to calm down. The wait until I quit saying my thoughts into the pillow seemed to stretch on for an hour with the tick-tick-ticking echoing from a clock somewhere beyond my room. Even with, or because of, the extra hours of sleep I feel exhausted. It took a lot of time and effort to force myself to leave the room.

There is a pause, the overly cheery smile she is wearing falls away as I wheel forwards, “Damn, Felicity, you look worse than Oliver and he was in rough shape when he left.” _Blunt truth, the superpower of the Queen family._

 “I can take you over to the salon, get your hair…” She hesitates, I’m sure trying not to offend me with whatever she’s planning on saying after basically just calling me a wreck, “back to something a little more you.”

Already shaking my head I push myself further into the room, resisting the urge to just backup and let the door close between us, “I don’t want to go out.”

That smile is back as she digs through one bag, “And because I thought you might say that I bought this. I know it’s a little darker, but I wasn’t sure what brand you used and it was as close as I could find.”

There are no words as she hands off the box with the smiling picture of a honeyed blonde. I cradle the box, a tiny bit more of my shattered buffer of numbness being kicked away with each act of kindness.

“Oh, I brought some makeup if you want,” She lifts a small bag and passes it over, “and things to wear…I think they’ll be the right size, I had to guess based on what Ollie said and seeing you yesterday.”

“Thea, I…” My throat is tight.

“It’s nothing.” She waves her fingers like it is actually nothing even though she has to know it’s a huge freaking deal to me, especially after the renewed look in the mirror. “Oliver left food and instructions to make sure you eat at least the yogurt and eggs,” Thea leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “but I brought you an iced caffé latte.”

A small noise escapes, I would like to pretend it isn’t as pathetic as it sounds to my ears. Apparently a couple dollars of coffee is a breaking point for me – my eyes burn as tears try to form. She reaches out a hand and squeezes mine, holding it for a couple heartbeats. _Love. How did I let that feeling just fade away for so long?_ Thea doesn’t argue, doesn’t protest when I shift away, just lets go and takes a step back. When I can, I force out the question, “Can I have the coffee first? Please?”

“Babe, I’m not here to tell you what to do, just help if you want it.”

}]}———}>

Rifling through the makeup, I find some the exact types I used to use, others…I look at the spot on my jaw that I tested. _How did she know this would be my shade, I didn’t know this would be my shade_. The state of my freshly dyed hair can’t be helped, but handfuls of conditioner do add a false healthy shine.

I make a show of it. The coffee only makes the trembling in my hands worse, but with enough time and retries I manage a perfect lining of my eyes, add to that a dark color on my lips after the bright one made me look clown-like. So clad in the softest pants and three layers of loose shirts I maneuver the chair out to the main room. “Ta-da.” A joviality I don’t feel, but I push the smile wide and force false happiness and calm into my eyes. “Good as new.”

It isn’t easy, but it’s easier, letting her babble about nothing, about the lighter things, trivial gossip, movies, and music that have passed me by while I cautiously pick at the yogurt. On  the bright side my stomach doesn’t argue, no hints of it coming back up, on the less bright side I feel wrung out, finding it increasing harder to focus on what she says and after some unknown number of tangents later I interrupt, needing a nap.

It doesn’t work well, restlessness is equal to fatigue and chases the promise of sleep away. I lay on the bed, staring out the window listening to that stupid clock ticking away until it is too much. Searching, finding and finding it out of reach in the bathroom, just above the door I go to ask Thea if she can reach it when the front door opens.

Oliver walks in, putting something down and shedding his suit coat with a greeting to his sister. He and does a double take when his eyes land on me. “Felicity! You look- I mean, how do you feel tod-”

Thea, casually interrupts. “I thought you were sleeping?”

I look from one to another slowly the words form to answer both questions, “I’m fine.”

}]}———}>

The memories haunt me, fragmented and skipping between past and further past, but they keep me trapped in my own head as the clouds float past the skyline.

_I stared around the room. The last time I was in this penthouse I was walking, he was standing right here asking me not to help HELIX..._

“You don’t have to carry that burden any longer…Let me do it”

“Felicity I…I can’t.”

“Then you’ll have to stop me.”

_…John was packing things from the upstairs bathroom while I was still putting things together in my mind._

_A couple curses when he found me taking things into my own hands before scooping me up for the remaining steps, running back down the steps for my wheelchair. I tore through the closet until I found what I needed under the guise of shoving things in a suitcase to so they will be within reach downstairs if I need them._

_A thank you and what I hope was more polite than a simple ‘You need to go,’ but I can’t remember quite what I said leaves me here alone, with a promise that any of them are just a call away._

_I didn’t even bother going through the hastily collected “bathroom box,” instead settling for spare dentist freebie toothbrush I kept for guests in this downstairs bathroom, pinging Mr. Lance’s phone to check his location as I brushed away the lingering tastes of horribleness and got as ready as I could for a trip to get things rolling._

}]}———}>

_“I’m sorry… I am. I’m really hoping that you’re gonna understand after we get Chase.”_

_“Don’t count on it.”_

 

Strike one.

}]}———}>

_“You’re safe here.” The doctor says, getting my attention back to her and off the color of my hands.  
“I killed him” I say, to her, to myself._

_“We need some pictures, for the police record.” They do. After cutting away the bloodstained and ruined fabric, providing small pieces of cloth to provide a pre-black bar level of privacy, they take a few more. A detached part of me wonders if they will be one of the things leaked, hacked, stolen by the tabloids as I am cleaned off, ”Ms. Smoak, have you had sexual intercourse in the past 24 hours.”_

_I blink, the question taking a minute for the words to sink in. They don’t make sense, “Have I…?”_

_“Did Mr. Chase-” My body flinches at his name, giving a panicked look at the door, fully expecting him to be there, “sexually assault you?”_

_I shake my head, “No.”_

_“Can we have your permission to test for-“_

_“No.”_

_“But Ms. Smoak-“_

_“Oliver? How is Oliver?”_

}]}———}>

_“We_ all _signed the dotted lines. So, um, surprise… Mazel Tov!”_

_He does a slow blink, a faint tic at his jaw, “We’re not married. That was not our wedding.”_

 

Strike two.

}]}———}>

_He is bruised, vulnerable, a tangle of sensors and IVs that make him look as frightening as his unmoving body was. Oliver’s voice is slow, slurred by the drugs that will carry him through surgery. “Don’t… do this.”_

 

Strike three.

}]}———}>

_“Hello-,” No, “Hey..hi Mom.” I lick my lips, “It’s me, Felicity. I just- I just wanted to say I love you. Let you know I love you, no matter what…” What can I say to make an excuse? “I’m… I’m doing some work. Important work. Busy all the time with super important work, so it might be… I might not get to call for a while, I’m not sure when they’ll- when I’ll be able to call again. But I’m fine.” The words feel emotionless, hollow, but I say them anyways. “I’m good, I miss you. More than you know. I love you. I love you so much. I hope you’re…Please take care of yourself, ok? There should be some money in your account, I set it up to leave automatic deposits every month, so you don’t have to worry about that stupid job, if you want to quit then you go ahead and quit because you deserve the best!”_

_There is a clink from the door, it starts to open._

_“I’ve gotta run, I mean go, I mean bye, good bye, I love you.  I love you momma.”_

_The guard sets down a folder, taking the recorder from where it sits on the table, already half out the door again. A bright note is stuck to the manila. ‘If you want that sent to her voicemail you know what you have to do.’_

}]}———}>

A noise, something, a hand, touches my shoulder and my skin crawls, shoulders stiffening. Oliver raises his hand away, "You looked lost in thought, I was saying you should eat."

I blink, absorb the words, then nod. _How long is he going to put up with me?_ He stares. _Smile!_ I give a small hopefully genuine looking smile. _Say something._ "Sorry, zoned out, still tired.”

He gives a concerned smile and motions to the table. a handful of small bowls and plates spread across tapas style. "Wasn’t sure what you would feel up to so it’s a little bland, but a mix of the world."

Rice and a thick but pale sauce coat veggies and what looks to be fish. a small omelet, noodles with thin shreds of garlic in oil or butter… whatever it is is glossy with fat. A chicken soup with dark orange carrots and faded green celery.  An alphabet of noodles in a dark brown broth loaded with small chunks of beef. A half circle of golden quesadilla, white cheese leaking out in a pooling mound. More are in place around the edge.

As I look from option to option he rubs a hand over his jaw, "if you want something else I can-"

"No...thank you, they all look good." He gives that hidden hint of a genuine smile and nods, pulling a chair away so I can situate myself at the center of the options.

Noticing there’s only two empty plates I look around, “Where’s Thea?”

“She left a little while ago, had to go take care of her dogs.”

_Oh_. I look back at the food. _This is too much to eat._ "Do you have a preferred-"

"Nope, take whatever you want." Cutlery, and chopsticks appear in front of me.

Wary of a repeat of my burger I move what will be a small bite or two from the non-soups, making a palette of the colorful foods on my plate.

He hasn’t moved, “Don’t you need to eat too?”

The uncomfortable feeling of being watched doesn’t fade even when he starts eating his own food. Oliver talks, trying to include me until he notices that I spend my answers nudging things around in my plate rather than eating, asking again if I want something else instead. I don’t. It’s fine. It’s just too much. I only had the yogurt hours ago, so my stomach still feels…well, not full, but ok.

"Could you not…” my fork wavers slightly, “not watch me?"

His eyes go to his plate, "Sorry, just...just been a long time, part of me wants to make sure you won’t disappear again." He picks up the quesadilla and takes a bite from where I had cut out a wedge, "This ones from a new taco truck that popped up a few blocks over. Good blend of cheeses"

I try it, chewing slowly, and nod. The unease that my stomach will reject the delicious crunchy gooey fare keeps my plate a war of risk and temptation. "Is there a computer I can use until I am back at the..." _It’s been years, has the bunker moved? Will they let me back? Maybe they found someone else to-_

"You can use mine until you’re ready."

The conversation lulls. The small scrape or clink of cutlery on plates an awkward soundtrack. I take a deep breath, trying to think how to word my request, especially because he could rightly, and easily, kick me out whenever he wanted. That intense stare is back on me before I can get a word out and the syllables die on my tongue. 

"Yes?"

I shake my head. _Nothing, it's nothing. Stupid, unnecessary. nothing._

"Felicity?"

The tines of my fork scrape at a bit of cheese, giving me something to look at other than him, "I just...it's stupid. nothing. I don’t need...it's nothing." I know he wouldn’t, and the thought of him getting upset at the question… of being sent to live back in Vegas with my mom…

When he is silent and I can feel his stare I glance up, Oliver just does the thing with his face that means he's not going to drop it.

"It's stupid-"

He smoothes out a napkin absently, "Ok."

"And not meant like you would, or would even think..." _Just shut up!_ I shake my head again.

"What is it?"

I cant help but bite on the thumbnail that snuck to my mouth. A debate over the words before they awkwardly blurt out, "I want to take a shower.”

He nods, looking perplexed, “I didn’t realize it wasn’t working, I can-“

“I…I’m sure it does.” _You’re in it now, get it out._  The small devices, the only marring of the white of the cell are so clear in my mind that I have to check the corners of the room with a fast glance to show me they’re not here. “There were cameras...everywhere. So I didn’t…I…” Fisting my hands in my lap I don’t think, the words rush out, “I just need to see...because I _know_ there aren’t, but I need to _see_ -"

"Just a minute." The neutral tone makes me look up, his face a carefully crafted blank. Already standing, Oliver grabs his phone, walking while dialing, his voice soft as he disappears into the hall, "Curtis, if you could..."

When he comes back I start to apologize at the same time he does. “I know you wouldn’t, it’s just-“ “I didn’t even think to-“

We both stop, wait for the other in an uncomfortably long silence.

“I’m sorry Oliver.”

"Curtis will be here soon, there’s _nothing_ to apologize for."

_We both know that’s not true._

}]}———}>

Who has two thumbs and silently cries in the shower? This lady.

}]}———}>

After too long under the hot water, awkward small talk with Curtis, and a video consultation with a registered dietitian nutritionist I spend the better part of the day reading, watching, searching for any and all information on what I had missed.

Guilt is there, a familiar mindset, it feels like I’m taking advantage of Oliver’s _Oliverness_. I should be figuring things out, making plans to find a new place to stay, calling…not calling my mother…not yet, doing something productive, not letting him try to magically ply me to health with offers of snacks and naps. Not taking advantage of him, not again.

}]}———}>

My sleep is restless, interrupted, and more often than I like I wake from Oliver’s voice or touch only to find out I was screaming, or crying, or making some noise that apparently he can’t just let me keep making.

It’s embarrassing. Terrifying as I’m trying to figure out where I am, what is happening, then awkward. Especially when the bad memories, twisted and fucked up dreams, and panic slip up and let a good memory or fantasy slip in.

Which is worse? Waking up remembering the feel of being dropped, landing on the unforgiving concrete, dragging myself to make sure the still form already on the ground is alive? Firing the arrow, then the first bullet, the next, the next until it’s uselessly clicking, needing to make sure Chase stays dead? Feeling my body, my whole body, tensing and almost burning up under the feel of that mouth right there, those wet noises as he buries his face against me like he can’t taste enough? My body wrapped so tight in an embrace, feeling nothing but the last aftershocks of pleasure when lazy fingers toy with my nipples while he presses soft kisses against the back of my neck, no cares or worries beyond picking out a couch sometime this week to put down just a bit more permanence to this whole thing?

Each jarring return to awareness leaves me exhausted, eyes and body aching. If the wakeup was assisted I try to convince Oliver that I’m fine. If it’s just me in the room, staring at the bright lights I fight the urge to medicate the stress or the feelings away, sometimes even winning.

}]}———}>

The first week Oliver is a near constant fixture. He doesn’t press for details most of the time, just asks if I want to talk about anything. With my media binge I always have a topic.

The next few days are a stressful torrent of doctors and the team stopping by and being pushed food with a guilt worthy of a Jewish Italian mother when there are leftovers on my plate.

I make it to the third trip out before having a full on panic attack that those little miracle pills can’t numb away in time…That is a horrible experience. I’m sure for everyone involved. The following morning a familiar face shows up and Oliver offers the explanation that Curtis never stopped working on the implants. “We need to make sure that when he figures out the bugs your body can handle it.”

Apparently I’m not in a shape that my-, _our_ surgeon feels comfortable with progressing yet, since it’s not an emergency situation. Also apparently they’re still trying to replicate the power source and the prototypes still tend to explode around month three of simulated use. The beauty of a six million dollar man joke falls flat when I fake a joviality that I don’t feel.

}]}———}>

At night I finally work up the nerve to call mom through the computer, so she won’t know I’m at Oliver’s. Voicemail. “…Hey mom, it’s…it’s Felicity. I know it’s been a while, I’m sorry I missed you, but I’ll call back at…” The mental math for the time differences is absurdly slow, “at seven your time. I…” _really want to hear your voice,_ “I love you. Talk to you soon.”

In a couple hours, when I make good on that promise she picks up. I have to lie, convince her I’m still out of the country like she thought I was so she won’t be on the first flight over. A twist of what has happened, what I’ve done, mostly just omission and careful wording…She’s crying, I can hear it as much as she tries to hide the fact and it makes me feel worse. _I should have called her from STAR Labs_. After saying I love you back and forth for a good minute, apologizing again, and promising to call again in a couple days the call disconnects.

I tell Oliver the story I’ve woven, “You don’t have to lie, just don’t tell her what you know, don’t tell her I’m here.” _We both know you know how to do that._ And when she calls him not five minutes later he goes along with my request, mostly by asking questions and letting her talk.

}]}———}>

Oliver takes me to the Arrow Cave when I ask if I can, and I find Curtis has been a near seamless replacement for me. He’s not as fast, doesn’t think the way I do, so his solutions aren’t what I would have chosen…but they got the job done.

_Replaceable._ My mind digs on me while I pace. Well by pace I mean wheel, and by wheel I mean I shove myself forward with a hard push , drag my hands to come to a jarring stop, then another hard push to move back to where I started in a small corner of the cavernous room while they deal with an emergency, feeling more like a caged animal here than in the bedroom.

}]}———}>

 I stay at Oliver’s after that. Eventually he does have to go back to work, the Mayor can’t just take two weeks off without planning. Following my dedicated show of forcing myself to eat extra and spending less time alone in my temporary room he eventually gets the fact that I won’t fall apart, in a way he can view, as soon as it’s just me.


	17. Warming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd. Finally starting to move a bit more away from just the downs of things. Next chapter is going to have some previous things and expand the last two partial memories in this one.

 It leans down, snapping its front teeth together, just above my skin.

I scream louder, there is a noise at the door as it purrs, licking a tear from my face..

_“NO! PLEASE HELP!”_

_This time it’s going to make good on the promise, this time it’s going to kill me. Bite and claw, it will pull each noise I fail to hold in and bask in them. It’s already bloody from whatever it did with the missing guards, now it’s playing with me like a cat with a mouse. A stupid helpless mouse with broken legs._

_It opens its jaw wide and the wordless scream tears out of me._

 

The pill is still soothing the tightness in my chest. My arms and body are still shaking so hard that Oliver had to help me with the water, to get it to my lips when the tiny compression of powder got stuck in my throat and coughing gasps replaced the screams I was making as he woke me from the nightmare. He sits on the bed beside me, far enough that we don’t touch, but still there, glass in hand, ready for whatever action is needed to save the day.

Skin disgustingly clammy, hair plastered to my face the same way the sweat soaked sheet clings to my skin. My teeth chatter as my thoughts spill out against my attempts to silence them, “I’m sorry. Sorry, I...hate this. I hate- I…you don’t have to…don’t mean to…don’t want to keep taking advantage.”

He barks out a shaky laugh, “It’s too early for that argument.” Taking a sip of the water he rubs the back of his neck. “But trust me, you’d lose.”

 

“Trust me!” I hiss, letting as little air escape as possible.

Oliver keeps frowning in concern. _Like this is more concerning than being without?_

“Oliver-“

He still doesn’t inhale, “Not you…I don’t…”

“Please?” I have to breathe in another breath of toxic air, and pant it out again, “I can’t watch you…” _Don’t say it, don’t think it. We might get out of here after all._ ”Please?”

…

I’m desperately listening to his breathing, whispering encouragements, only vaguely noticing my hand keeps landing over his heart. Feeling its beat, knowing as the rate changes that my panic is justified

 

My fists crumple handfuls of the blankets, trying to clear the lingering memories, trying to keep both to myself, “This is stupid. I’m fine. I can’t… Other than these useless legs- but I’m fine! And I…you know I didn’t have nightmares…not many after Dhark had…after that happened the first time.”

He reaches out, hesitates, then brushes his knuckles against mine which is about the most contact I can stand right now, “I know you’re like me. You don’t want to admit defeat, you don’t want to let people know when you could use some help. We’re both willing to go to any extent to help someone we care about…You’re not taking advantage of me, if anything I still owe you. You may have used…unconventional methods, and I _was_ furious at first, but I wouldn’t be walking today, probably wouldn’t even be breathing if not for you.”

}]}———}>

My days…my days are not boring, not by comparison to the past two years. I have the internet, tv, books, the ability to go outside even if I don’t use it. I owe Oliver, though he won’t say it, and if I’m going to have any chance at that implant being inserted and walking again I need to gain weight. With the _discomfort_ I have, physical and psychosomatic according to my nightly discussions with the doctor, when trying to eat more, I have to focus instead on gaining muscle.

I was in good shape before all this, not like the team, but I looked good. Good enough to attract two gorgeous playboy billionaires who could have had their pick of anyone else. But that was before, my body is now… lacking.

So I am relentless, using the equipment he situates around the main room and my own bodyweight to attempt building upper body strength. What I don’t end up throwing up when my stomach knots and my mind screams, adds on the scale, even if it’s not visible in the mirror yet. _Progress is progress, I’ll take it._

}]}———}>

Holding the handlebars in a death-grip, straps help secure me as my legs dangle straight down. _Up. Up. Damn it just a little, go up!_ Sweat beads along my hairline as I try and fail again. Critically focusing on the floor to ceiling mirror that I face, a detached part of me looks at the stretchy pants that end just below my knee, covering a bulk of the now-missing muscle mass. “Wasn’t that a thing?”

There is a controlled exhale from Oliver, “Hmm?”

I nod toward the mirror, straining as my lower half stays limp, making no movement beyond residual momentum from my upper body. “Thigh gap.”

The weights clatter in the machine behind me and I catch Oliver giving me a face.

Pulling hard, hovering in place rather than inching up, but at least it’s not dropping. My arms start trembling with the strain. “It was though, right?”

Oliver makes a disgusted noise, and starts another set of reps. “I have more important things to do than pay attention to idiotic clickbait.”

I give an exaggerated mock gasp, “You know what clickbait is?” I try again but end up having to pull the strap loose, slipping down to the mat.

His workout pauses, “I don’t live under a rock.”

After the first few times he’s learned…is learning not to offer help if I don’t ask for it, so he just waits while I get up to my wheelchair before resuming his set, “I’ve seen your browser history!” _Oh crap! He’ll think you’re snooping now - say something to fix this._ The words ramble out, flustered, “Back when we were…When we…before. You had ten sites, half business, half for your other job, and one sad little rarely visited _entertainment_ site. I used to have at least… _oh_ _my Google that’s inappropriate_ , forget I said that.” _Why would I tell him that I knew about that? And ‘oh my Google?’ What are you, five?_

He gives a smirk, starting the lifts again, “Felicity Smoak you were not exactly stealthy.”

_What? Please. My temp files and history were cleaned out as religiously as a teenager,_ “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oliver’s smooth repetitions don’t slow, “Honey, you may have had your headphones on, but the bluetooth speakers were still connected in the other room.”

“No they weren’t!”

He finishes, setting the weights down and leaning forward, “Not always, but you can bet that I didn’t accidentally come to bed early when they were.”

Embarrassment for what was unknown years ago heats my already hot skin, so I’m sure I look like a sweaty red mess as I cover my face with my hands, barely whispering a mortified “Ohmygod.”

There is an awkward silence as only two people who used to do intimate things with each other and now don’t can have.

A couple strained seconds pass before he makes some motion, a scritching sound so probably his fingers moving at the back of his neck before he blurts out, “It’s already almost 8:00? I’ve got to get moving if I’m going to make my meeting…There’s food in the fridge, you could always order-”

My words are muffled and rushed, openly accepting his excuse, “Got it, thank you, have a good day.”

I wait until he leaves then stick the small discs to my legs, revultion crawling in my belly at the sight of them. Carefully, so I don’t tangle the wires I finish then plug it in. It’s interesting to watch my feet, knees, everything jolt or twitch, knowing they are attached to me but not being able to feel the cause – a carefully programmed electric current, stimulating the remaining muscles. I have to be vigilant because I can’t feel the results either, or the risk of burns if done too intensely for too long. The numb spasms in my legs make painful ones in the larger muscles connected further up, but I keep at it for a solid hour. I’ve been adding ten minutes at a time, getting creative, adding small weights to try and build up strength. Sure all the way around my stomach aches at the end, but that’s just a sign it’s working.

}]}———}>

_The weight is crushing, not just the doctor, but the massive weight of It above her, bearing down to delight in the slow kill. A mouthful, a pause to delight the sharp piercing screams, then a clawing that pushes the thrashing body harder, her head cracking against mine as she tries for any escape._

_“GUARDS! PLEASE! ANYBODY! WE NEED HELP!” My throat is raw, even if it’s likely only been a minute it has stretched, every noise, every movement, every smell burned to the tiniest detail in my mind._

_The doctor’s screams are wordless, screeching each breath in, shrieking each one out._

_It makes a noise that can only be interpreted as a pleased laugh then grabs some part of her arm, lifting it off of me, snarling, growling like some monster of fiction. A sharp breaking sound, a slurp. A delighted noise, a wet hiss that she is a feast, this is her fault for what she did, she deserves this, then to me – scream louder. The weight lifts slightly, and with more air in my lungs I do at the sight of It. It smiles, savors the sound-_

}]}———}>

Pills. One at first, my whole body shaking in fear, vomiting it back out into the small plastic wastebin beside me, chewing the next so it is caked in my teeth, bitter in my cheeks. When it doesn’t help in the seconds or minutes that follow I scatter the rest getting another. I can’t even force myself to be disgusted at the noises I hear myself making, I can only be glad that at this point in the day I am alone, will be for hours. _Can’t let anyone see me like this._

After that daymare I try to work myself to exhaustion, doing pushups until my shoulders ache and I can barely crawl over to the weight resistance. When I can’t do another crunch or lift, every part of me that I can feel is throbbing with exertion and part of my back is spasming, so I force myself over to the fancy customized inversion chair. It takes too long to work myself into position, even with the modifications to the machine for someone in my…situation.

There is the blood rush as it starts to tilt. A harsh groan escapes as my muscles stretch, still aching. A couple minutes pass and it automatically starts to right itself after the timer beeps. I fumble and end up activating it again, getting a head-rush this time, and again the painful soreness is temporarily lightened a little, the spasm finally easing off.

When it takes me back to a horizontal position I let my eyes close for a minute, and take controlled breaths. When my eyes open again it has to have been at least an hour, possibly more. I try to press the button that will take me back to regular sitting but my body protests, loudly. As soon as I start to move stabbing sharpness runs from under my shoulder blades down to where the numbness starts at the base of my incision scar. _I should not have fallen asleep on this thing. This is going to hurt._

A painful laugh bursts from me while I try not to cry out. The muscles along my spine twitch in protest as I keep reaching for the release button and fail again. I do however manage to bump the inversion one as would be my luck. I groan as my body protests and stars prickle across my vision. _Bad move…really…_ There is a roar in my ears, a muffled deafening ocean sound so even the pained gasps escaping are inaudible.

A beeping noise brings me back to alertness, motion teases at the corner of my sight.   _Blacked out? How long?_ “Is someone there?” My groggy question turns into a hiss as I try to get my bearings.

Oliver’s voice carries with his footsteps, "What are you doing using that one alone? It can be dangerous."

I debate internally for a heartbeat. _Ask. It’ll take him two seconds to help. But if I can just reach the release I can inch myself out…however until my butt is back in the chair instead of my back I’m as useless as a flipped turtle._ "Little help getting to my-” I try to point and my body protests not to even think about moving that part of my body anytime soon. “Out please?"

A stretch of his arm presses the release, and the seat slowly lowers so my top half is vertical. My head spins and body aches. He crouches and has just started to lift me when that same slightly hysterical laugh escapes, along with some rather creative salty language that trails off into a mantra of “Ow, wait, wait, please, ow, ow, wait.”

Oliver could be a statue beyond his mouth and stern look, “What is it? Where? Let me call your doctor-“

“No- just- no, down, wait-“ a high noise squeaks out.

“Felicity-“

“Just a cramped muscle…not hurt, just hurting.” It takes a bit more descriptive words to convince him it’s not an actual injury.

“Can you sit up?”

I hunch forward trying to ease the ache, “Nuh-uh,” grits out from between my teeth.

My admiration for his crazy amount of arm strength is pretty much peaking as he carries me, nearly motionlessly, over to the couch. The plushness of the cushions that I sink into is glorious compared to the firm padding of the inversion chair, but still my shoulders arch as he lets me try to settle.

“Tell me?”

“I’m fine, just getting out of that helped.” He stands there, crossing his arms, “I’m sure you’re busy? Much more important things to do with your evenings.”

“Where?”

Trying to straighten doesn’t work. “I’m fine.”

“Just tell me where it hurts…I’ll heat a rice sock.”

_Hot heavy rice, just waiting to scorch the aches away. Son of a bitch he’s fighting dirty._ “…Shoulder, right shoulder then down along my spine to the numbness.”

Focusing on breathing, trying to force myself to relax, his voice breaks the moment of silence and makes me flinch, which, of course, makes me whimper.

”Do you need me to get you one of the pills? Or something for the pain?”

As much as I would love those virtual horse tranqs it has been made quite clear that until my body has had a chance to recover further they should be avoided unless absolutely necessary. I manage a sound that is negative, taking a few more breaths to ask for the rice.

“Lean forward.”

Slowly I do, and he settles the weight into place. It is beautiful agony.

Eventually he talks, we talk, about his day, about what the team is doing tonight, about my progress. He eats, then is out the door again as the sun sets.

}]}———}>

_Twenty-four hours later._

Oliver pats the towel he’s draped over the giant cushioned ottoman, or coffee table depending on which side the top is flipped to, “On your front.”

_What?_ I blink wide eyed, “W-what?”

 

_Gentle hands help slide me off him._

_Easing me over, onto my stomach before rolling over top to cage me beneath his weight. He grabs the handful of my hair and pulling it aside and over my shoulder to expose my neck._

 

He pats it again, “Over here, on your front.”

I don’t move, gripping the wheels tighter. “I don’t- That’s not a good idea.”

A frown touches his face, quickly hidden, but clear as a beacon in his eyes and the set of his jaw. “I should have arranged a physical therapist for you from the get go, but you shot down that option. At the very least a weekly massage therapist – manula therapy to help with what you’re-”

A crawling revulsion drags itself along my skin. “No, no I don’t want more strangers _touching_ me.

“Felicity it’s not-“ He sighs, “Just let me try this, see if it helps you like it helped me... I’m not a stranger.”

“Oliver, I just don’t think…” I know a large part of my argument against him doing this is because of the rather intense memories that invaded and morphed in my dreams. For once the whole night managed to be fantasies and good memories, rather than nightmares, and I’ve been a bit on edge since waking, especially around my dream companion. I argue for the sake of arguing, because I’m stubborn, because I know from experience how skilled those hands are. That in and of itself is a reason not to let him, last time we traded massages we were in a different type of relationship.

He makes valid points, softly spoken words that I can’t deny. Eventually my face and diminished chest sink into the terrycloth covered padding.

Oliver rubs his hands together with the quiet sounds of friction then presses hot fingers to my tense muscles. He’s so very good at this. All that strength in his…

 

_“Oh my god Felicity, get there. Get there!” His teeth go beyond nipping, beyond bruising, as he gasps the demand, but in this instant it is exactly what I need. I moan out just how good it feels and his wordless noises tell me the same, but there is no way his heartbeat can be pounding the way it feels against my back. A throbbing ache spreads across every nerve, insisting on more, feeling like those last inches up, readying to be crashed full force into this._

_“Now Oliver, now!” I feel him shudder around me, pushing my body with his as he give a final thrust and he makes an amazing gasping wordless moan of losing himself, complete with sucking that sweet spot on my neck, that just does that last little shove past the edge for me. His ragged breath against my skin is in time with my own gasps, drowning out the rhythmic wet sounds from each increasingly erratic thrust. My pleasure overwhelms me, consumes me, makes the world and everything but this feeling irrelevant and I lose myself in the electric bliss of it._

_Eventually his head droops down over my shoulder and he twists us just enough to kiss my lips again, wrapping both arms around me while we ride it out through amazing aftershocks for what feels like minutes stretched into hours._

_“You ok?”_

 

“…Felicity, are you ok?”

Jerking back to reality as he repeats the question again, I feel my skin heat, remembering I haven’t downed a panic pill today so there’s no way, in theory, that any part of that memory should have slipped out. “Fine.”

“You were spacing out on me, I need to know if it hurts, so just stay awake for a little longer.”

His hands smooth along my skin, covering each part in turn until he tries to go past the point of sensation. “Not my legs! Don’t-“ _Don’t look at them. Don’t touch them. Don’t-_ “Just don’t.”

He doesn’t argue, and he doesn’t pause, just moves back up over my ribs. Never lingering, his hands split in directions, one going to the implant scar, the other directly between my shoulders. I groan as he works at new knots. It has that poking-a-bruise ache but as the muscles are stretched and worked it also feels really good. _Too good._ I indulge for another minute before opening my mouth again, “Oliver, enough.”

His hands lift and hover, “Hurting?”

_Yes and no._ “It’s…uncomfortable.” I try to clear my mind, focusing on the task at hand, getting back over to my wheelchair without his help. Yes my muscles ache, but other places, including ones he didn’t touch like my belly are aching for lack of touch, just like the deep pulse of awareness tightening across my chest.


	18. Realizations and Conversations 1/3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry - this chapter ran really, really long, so I'm breaking it up into three parts - hence the not so clever chapter title.
> 
> The expansion promised in the last note will be in part two - just need to make sure I have everything formatted and should upload it (now that it's 1:30 in the morning) tonight, then part three tomorrow or Monday.
> 
> Right aligned is still memories. I think I caught all of them in this part but I definitely need some sleep.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Thanks for the comments and kudos, they're appreciated.

I can’t lie to myself about the fact that the massages help. There is a noticeable difference the morning after compared to when I tell him I don’t need or can’t handle it. The lie I do try to convince myself of is that I could not possibly like it as much as I do sometimes.

Those days are the worst because I double up on the demands I make on my body so the next time I have to let him try to work the knots and tightness from my strained and sore muscles, to increase the circulation, it doesn’t feel good, it just hurts.

It doesn’t matter to my stupid body that he’s just doing it to help, that I’m already intruding on his life, that he’s just trying to help and those hands over my shirt or occasionally on my skin are sticking to business even if it’s more voluntary contact than I’ve had from anyone since… _Well that doesn’t matter, quit thinking back to that_. My brain fully acknowledges that he talks about work, random things with friends and family or the team, current event, all sorts of things to try and distract as his broad palms, strong fingers, and hard knuckles work around the scars low on my spine.

}]}———}>

 It feels _so awesome_ to have to rely on the feminine hygiene products that are in the bathroom. Just another reminder that… Well they’re obviously not Oliver’s. But they are there, and when my period decides to come back in full force one morning I’m thankful they’re under the cabinet, within reach of the claw grabber thing I had ordered so I wouldn’t have to keep asking him to get things that fall or drop. The vengeance of my body is fierce, a _how-dare-you-skip-your-fairly-ok-ones-now-you-get-THIS_ , so that despite the fact that I didn’t choose to skip them I apparently deserve to be curled over a hot water bottle feeling like I got sucker punched by a car _._

The magic of the internet lets me order more of my own choosing, things better suited for my current state, which is nice. No faint embarrassment as a cashier’s ringing you up, _Yes sir or ma’am aren’t you just thrilled to know I am not pregnant and my body is shedding a now unnecessary mess out of intimate place._ This way I get to have the call that a package has arrived, and security knocking on my- Oliver’s door with a freshly scanned package.

_How long has it been? He said breaks..there has to be one coming up…Samantha, William, they’re going to be visiting soon…unless Oliver goes there. His son, his maybe-ex?, they stay here, you shouldn’t intrude on that._

}]}———}>                                  

I am right in that, a couple days later Oliver casually mentions that the school system’s holiday break is coming up, “How would you feel about William staying for a few days starting next weekend?”

_They’re a family. Let them be a family._ “I was actually planning to spend some time at Thea’s, you heard her at dinner the other night, she has been asking for a while and…and you deserve some alone time-“ _that sounds wrong_ , “father son time to bond and everything.” The corners of his eyes tighten, as does his mouth, the concern obvious. “You could take him camping, or to the kids museum, or an amusement park, fun things, not so wheelchair friendly.” _Not like I’d want to leave the room you let me use_.

}]}———}>

As soon as we pull up I know it’s a mistake. The dogs are large, friendly but enthusiastic, those teeth, those claws, those noises...Masking a shudder by pulling my jacket tighter, I fake a smile, “Let’s get inside, it’s cold out here.” _Exposed, I’m vulnerable out here._

Hours later I pick at the pizza while we watch a movie, yet another classic animation the studios decided to cash in on by making a live action computer rendered mess of colors and poor story adaptations. My stomach knots while I keep an eye on the dogs as they play fight with toys among themselves, or gnaw on what has to be a cow bone. The combination of them and the monsters on the screen is raising the hairs on the back of my neck and goosebumps along my arms. When it’s too much I excuse myself to the bathroom and swallow a panic pill with a handful of sink water. Newly placid I wheel back out, moving to park myself by Thea who offers some chips, pretending like her eyes never left the screen.

 

_The drag of claws on solid wall, clicking and scraping…getting closer. “Felicity.” It snarls. Did it hear my name from one of the guards? I can’t see It, but I can hear the feral noises, feel the dread…_

“Ow! Hey, stop! What’s wrong? You’re white as a ghost.” Thea is pulling my fingers off her arm when reality toys the nightmare my mind was creating back to the shadows of my imagination.

I shove my hands into my lap, “Sorry, I-“ I force a laugh, “Intense movie.”

She looks at the screen where CGI magical animals try to drag the main characters back into the woods they so narrowly escaped in a neon budget buster. Pressing pause before turning back to me, her eyes are full of disbelief, “Are you worried something’s going to…” I don’t try to fill in the blank for her so after an awkward pause she motions a hand at the TV, “take you back?”

“They can’t. There’s nothing to take me back to. I won’t let them…” I bite my lip to stop the words, take a breath, “Didn’t mean to say that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

A laugh at the very idea. “ _No._ ” My mouth keeps talking as the thoughts fight my efforts to keep them in my head, “Don’t want to talk. Just the p-“ I try to catch the word, “pi-“ it slips past my teeth anyways “pills and the sounds…”

“I can put the dogs in the-“ She starts to stand, clicking her fingers to get the attention of her pets who trot over all doggy smiles and wagging tails.

I shake my head, wheeling backwards, away, “Tired…I need to sleep. Sorry. It’s not them, they didn’t do anything wrong.”

My light stays on and I lay awake all night, needing a couple more pills the couple times when I start to nod off. _Tomorrow I need to stay somewhere else. Not at Oliver’s. Not with his family, other family, there…The bunker. Not a good idea…You know that’s a bad idea. All sorts of memories down there. Like a hotel is better?_

}]}———}>

One night at the bunker, then at Oliver’s while they’re backpacking and sleeping under the stars, circling back to Thea’s at the end. It is not my best week, all this time _outside_ , does not agree with me and I have to work hard to regain the couple pounds I could not afford to lose. They either don’t notice, or don’t comment on it. I need to find a place of my own, but when I mention it casually I’m thinking of looking to Thea on that last night…she may not laugh in my face but I watch her conversation on the phone later, the one sided dialogue showing just how poorly that idea goes over with all of them. _I’m not trapped, I can go. I can go anywhere any time I want to._  And I can repeat that enough times that it sticks, but it’s a cage of my own making and I’m feeling the walls.

}]}———}>

I do not intrude on any of Oliver’s time with his son, but the minute Samantha and the kid leave the building my butt is rolling in from the parking garage. The relief at being back to his place is so intense it takes a few minutes before I notice Oliver and Thea are discussing me across the room in hushed voices. Too quiet to reach over here, but I read my name on their lips when I glance up. They continue unaware that I don’t need to hear them to follow their conversation.

‘ _You read the chart! I was there. While you were being carted off to surgery she was back and forth between hysteria and being a space case. They suspected then asked if she had been…If Chase had…The nurse asked point blank, and she just looked at her, said ‘he’s dead’ which turned into ‘he’s dead, I killed him’ on repeat followed by another round of ‘Where’s Oliver, help Oliver.’ You didn’t read that in the chart and you weren’t in the room. She needs help. Whatever she went through back then, since then, she’s breaking apart-_ ‘ She points at me without looking away from their squabble.

He drags a hand over the week of growth on his jaw, ‘ _You think I don’t see that! You think I’m somehow blind? She barely sleeps, when she does she wakes up screaming, or in a panic, or rolls around the apartment for hours. I know she needs help! She won’t- And I don’t- I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know what to do!_ ’

_‘She needs more than just physical therapy!’_

_‘Felicity is too much like me, you try to make her talk and she’ll just stop talking about anything related to it at all.’_

_‘Come on Ollie, look at her, she’s-‘_ They look over and see me watching, giving friendly smiles like I’m stupid, ‘ _she is terrified to go out, terrified to stay in, you said she still has the nightmares, those aren’t nightmares.’_

My eyes widen, _Have I been talking in my sleep?_

His motions are stiff, ‘ _Maybe try bringing a hypnotherapist? Someone who could walk her through-‘_

Thea moves closer to him, ‘A therapist can help, that one you used, or one who can-‘

_No. Hell no. Fuck no. Absolutely no._ Clearing my throat I try to interrupt. “I don’t…”

They look over and plaster false smiles on. Thea calls over loudly, “Just one sec.” They resume their whispering, though Oliver turns his face which means I can’t see what he’s saying.

_No!_ They start moving towards me, asking what’s wrong as I realize I said that out loud. “No. You will not bring _anyone_ like _that_ here, for _me_. I don’t need or want a therapist!”

There is surprise, no embarrassment, “You could hear us?”

“Of course not,” I scoff, “you are quiet enough normally, plotting like that I’m surprised you could hear each other. I spent almost two years with only a small rectangle view of the guards as conversation, I had a lot of practice reading lips.” They share a pained look rather than being impressed by my improved skill set. _Shouldn’t have said that. Fine, then let’s get something else awkward out of the way._ “Chase didn’t- When you were- Down there, I wasn’t assaulted.”

Oliver’s face tightens, his whole body tensing, his voice though is as gentle and quiet as it’s ever been, “Felicity, you don’t have to lie, we saw you, the damage, the evidence… “

Touching my hand to my face, the phantom ache of that bruising left is an easily remembered pain. I correct the statement. “It wasn’t _sexual_ beyond a couple things he said to get you upset.” _Why are they giving me those looks?_ “He didn’t touch me like that. I was not raped.”

They shift, knowingly or not, moving into spots that would be my exit points if I could get up and run. It definitely doesn’t make me feel any more comfortable where I am. “Felicity, they noted the signs, even if you wouldn’t let them collect-“

“He didn’t-“ _Why aren’t you believing me?_

“You don’t have to lie! Not to us, not to me. It wasn’t your fault!”

So many things were and are my fault but not this imaginary rape. “It didn’t happen. Nothing happened!”

“I remember you screaming for him to stop, not to touch…begging-“ His voice falters, “Begging for my help!”

A jumble of memories dredge to the surface of my thoughts. I remember those too and I’m still not understanding, “What?”

“The notes from the doctor indicated that you had…that _activities_ had occurred, you were panicked and didn’t want them touching you. Someone wrote that you screeched something so loud and high it was like nails on a chalkboard but whatever it was, it was so fast they couldn’t understand. But there were signs, photos…I saw the- When the nurse was in my room, I remember it better than almost everything else, I saw your neck. The bite marks, the dashing teeth line, the bruising. That was damage, that took time, to get it in that spot he would have had to have been-“ Oliver is practically tripping over his words, carefully choosing them even if I have and have denied it already. “If you were unconscious- or you might not have felt him where your implant wasn’t-, but that-“

”Was just a damn hickey!” I practically shout, exasperated.

That stops them both. Oliver’s face is a wash of confusion as Thea gives me a disbelieving look, “You…he…Chase gave you a hickey?”

“God no!” Despite my note, he obviously spent the last two years destroying himself over the fact that he couldn’t protect me from Chase anyways, add to that an incorrect assumption and- _Damn it. But he…He can’t want me going over this with his sister in the room._ “Oliver, you weren’t more than ten feet away from me except for a cumulative couple minutes. You know what happened down there, and you know what didn’t happen. You...you didn’t hit your head until right at the end”

He shakes his head, pale, obviously imagining the worst. "I...things are choppy around the expl- EMP until I woke up in the hospital. I have bits and parts, plus the t-sphere video, and the reports, but the only other people there were dead or missing.” He paces, "I could hear him... could hear you screaming-"

"No!" I cut him off, grabbing his “No, no, no. I’m so sorry that you thought- No, _that_ didn’t- he didn’t. It was _us, not him_. You were with me, we were trapped, going to die”

 

Panting, I lean over taking the sides of his face in my hands, “Felici-?” I press my lips to his. Every hard edge of him tightens and after I give him a second kiss he gently pushes me away. “What are you doing?”

 

“I wanted... It was _entirely_ consensual.” _Or as consensual as two people dying underground can be._

 

He makes a low noise deep in his throat, then so quiet, I can only really tell what he says by the movement of his lips, he whispers, “Fuck it,” before he’s kissing me back, tasting faintly of hard liquor and the hinted bitter of pain pills.

 

He rubs the spot on himself, “But your neck and…”

My cheeks heat, remembering, “You found a spot…that was, um, sensitive. It was all you, not him.”

“I…I had these nightmares. You were…”

_Gee thanks lover. Ack, I did not just call him lover!_ “We were trapped.”

 

“…no one to fight. We’re trapped, so there’s nowhere to flee. So that just leaves one last in the trio of F’s to do, fight, flight, or…” I nuzzle the tip of my nose to his, playing off affection to hide my fear.

“Felicity-” His voice is full of that hidden scoff, like I’m talking crazy, which in this case I’m not. His breaths are equally shallow as mine, trying to make them last.

I hover my lips two inches over his mouth, not the easiest pose from this wheelchair, “Exactly. _Do ‘Felicity._ ’…”

 

 “So we had a few minutes of distraction,” I rush picking and choosing the words as carefully as I can, “before the air ran out. And then Chase made his presence known.”

“Wait…you two-“

“Sorry, Thea, but weren’t part of the…” _No! Stop! Mind stop right this second! Why would you even-?_ “You’re not part of the two surviving members of that whole…experience.” Oliver puts up a hand in a silent plea for her to give us some room. _Not a good idea. Leave the room!_ “I’m not…and if you don’t…I can’t do this right now.” _Or ever._

…

After I avoid talking to him for the next couple days, brushing off the questions with excuses, he stops asking. Strained conversations become more natural.

}]}———}>

It’s been a month and a half. Six weeks of eating and working, of shattered sleep and one refill of pills. The disbelief on the phone as I called STAR Labs to ask for another bottle was embarrassing…apparently it should have lasted me at least a few more months.

_It’s not my fault. It’s not like there were directions other than to take as needed…I can’t help it if most nights I need at least two, and a few more during the day._ The words spill out as my cheeks flame. A _slight_ exaggeration about how many I spilled when trying to get them out of the tube the times before figuring out I needed to leave one in the bottom of an empty tumbler at all times for fast access. I’m stumbling through a conversation with Caitlyn as Kristen has Barry run the pills to the closest delivery service…it took way too long to convince him he didn’t need to run the pill packed bottle over here himself. It’s been a rough day, and I’m down to my last two so I’ve vowed to myself that I will not, absolutely not, take any more unless someone else, insists I need one. The doorbell rings and I have an excuse to end the call instead of stuttering through another few minutes of small talk. Apparently I missed the front desk’s call, and since she was approved already the nurse was waved up.

My smile is a bit forced, but anyone would be nervous over a checkup that could say progress isn’t good enough. She chitchats, setting up the webcam and taking note of my stats. She doesn’t comment on them, and the doctor who pops up on the screen makes small noises that don’t sound anything but neutral. My anxiety is building as I work through the circuit of stretches and exercises, with her testing things at the doctor’s direction. The feeling like a fist is pressing up, expanding and my chest, larger and larger until I’m fighting my urge to throw up and relieve the pressure. We’re running long, long enough for Oliver to get home, a to-go container of something in his hand. Mentally cursing the open floorplan as he puts it in the kitchen I can feel the third set of eyes watching me as I strain, trying to pull the bar down enough to lift the weight as instructed.

Sweat drips into my eye, stinging, I pull harder, losing control of my paced breathing, and Oliver’s voice comes from the kitchen, “Slow it down Felicity,” _Not helping, just be quiet!_ “you can do this, inhale deep and lift it on the exhale.” My thoughts are not family friendly as I glare at the wall in front of me.

I clench down on the handlebar and keep pulling. It lifts the weights a little.

“Hold it there please. Let’s check the muscles Ms. Smith.”

I don’t move, not when she raises the back of my shirt up a handspan, not when I feel the sweat slip down my spine towards where her fingers gently touch and move the lens to view. _I can’t do this, I’m going to drop it, drop it and puke all over myself…I can’t. I can’t. I-_

“I’ve seen enough.”

Disappointment crashes through me, and it takes almost more than I can do to slowly let the bar raise so the weight doesn’t clank as it settles against the rest in the stack. Leaning forward until my elbows hit my knees and my palms support my face. “That good, huh?”

“Actually yes.”

That grabs my attention enough to ignore everything else and turn towards the camera, “Really?”

The nurse smiles, making up for the disembodied voice. The room is otherwise silent as he makes an affirmative noise, “Ideal, no, but you’ve made quite a bit of progress for such a short amount of time, and with considerations as to just how long the muscles will take to rehabilitate if the surgery is a success. It’s just like I told you when you came back, we weren’t able to track the healing after the removal, and I won’t be able to see the condition of the scar tissue until I’m back in there, but right now I’m comfortable with taking that step once the new device is ready.”

}]}———}>

It takes another two weeks for the combined brains of Curtis, Cisco, and what limited help I can give for us to crack a power source. He thinks…we think. It’s more of a modification to the implant, including a port so the power source can be replaced as needed. There’s no way what we have could last a lifetime, if I’m lucky a decade. By then hopefully someone will have designed or discovered a better option. _At least this one won’t explode and take out half my spinal cord and rib cage…_

}]}———}>

The month to get a place in the surgeon team’s schedule drags, they can’t just cancel their appointments, not for me. No matter how much I just want it done, I can’t take them away from those who have worked and saved, who have done everything right to get those precious hours.

_Rush, rush, rush, hurry up and wait._

}]}———}>

_Thirty eight hours until my surgery…Not that I’m counting._

Oliver stays at the table where I was re-reading the meticulous list of things I need to do in the next day and a half.

He waits until I look up, feeling him watching me, then slides a pill between us, “I have some questions, I’d appreciate honest answers.”

My eyes widen, “Is this to make sure you’re getting _honest_ answers?”

A shake of his head, “For the questions. If you need it.”

Rolling the small circle between my fingers, “What questions?” There are so many things from the past few years, even back before _that place_ I haven’t talked to anyone about.

There is a pause, as if he’s gone over this in his head a million times that now he doesn’t know how to ask. “What happened, while we were down there? What should I be remembering, what’s real?”

_I should…what if something goes wrong. Just in case…He was there, he might remember on his own, or partially on his own later, if you die on the table you can at least fill in some gaps. I can’t actually…not to his face. Try._ “You remember the EMP?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s start at the very beginning,” _A very good place to start…Not the time brain._ I take a deep breath but the words don’t come. “I…I need to- Can you move out of sight? Go sit over there…” I nod at the chair, “and be quiet while I talk in here?”

“If I have questions?”

“Then you’ll ask another time. I’ll try to tell you as much as I remember, in as much detail as I can…it might trip your memories back into gear, but I’m only going to do this once, and ony because it’s you…we’re not talking after. Not tonight. Don’t talk to me, don’t touch me, don’t…I’m going to go to the room and lock the door and you’re going to respect that and we’re going to pretend that anything you don’t remember is just a memory you _do_ have.”

He doesn’t say anything, just goes to the deep chair out of my view. I hear the cushions shift, then a few clicks and quieting beeps as he silences his phone.

I swallow the pill, and fish out two more…just in case. With them laying before me I clear away my nerves as the first calms my pulse.

_Think back, start. Fast for the start of the night._ It’s what he should remember, before the hard details, “I left you there, at the ARGUS site, left behind the tablet she had tricked out for me, so Curtis could let you out. I had to catch a cab back to their ‘lair’ but it was cleared by the time I go there. I was a liability to them too. Then I brought the program…it worked, it was tracking Chase down. We had a location, our location, he was there with us, at the Arrowcave. Ahead of us, a trap set and sprung. He must have triggered something, or it was set to go off after a certain number of keystrokes, or something. One little blast and he took out my legs, disoriented you, had us cut off…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of this is twice the length of this (part 1), all of it being before the hospital in Chapter 1. There will be some repeated parts, but it's the entirety of what I wrote for that "Below" time. Sorry for the delay, life is life.


	19. Realizations and Conversations 2/3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Part two of what I split into three parts when it morphed into a very large chapter.
> 
> This one is all in the past, there are repeats of other portions I've peppered through the rest of the story thus far as well as the new stuff, but chronologically this is pretty much it for the "start" of the story. In my mind she gives quite a bit of this detail in what she tells Oliver, lost in the remembering and such especially with the chemical aid and stress babble tendencies.
> 
> Hope to get part three out in the next day or two, it will be back in the present.
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, they're very appreciated.

_24 months and change ago…Below._

He keeps asking if I’m ok. Then he goes and does exactly,  _exactly_ , what is guaranteed to be a bad move. Climbing up an elevator shaft without equipment is stupid, doing it while still dazed from the EMP when a lunatic has booby trapped every other method of escape is just plain idiocy.

Of course it was a trap. Another inch and he’d have a hole punched into his lungs or gut rather than a deep gouge across his side, having landed hard on an exposed bolt.

 “Did that hurt?” I ask, fighting the urge to gag as I get another quick look at the wound, steeling myself.  _Don’t lie, you said you wouldn’t lie to me…_

”Yes. Yes it did.”

_Well…good._   _Not the wound, but that he’s still committed to honesty._  I let the nitrile gloves snap loudly as I get them on. “You ready?”

He makes a harsh grunt as I lift the temporary bandage again, the edges trying to stick to his skin with a layer of blood. “You ok?”

“With stitching you up on something that could have been avoided? What exactly are you expecting me to say, Oliver?” _Let’s get this over with._

_..._

The worst part, the one that makes me have to look away for long seconds before forcing myself to finish, is seeing the scratch into his rib bones, a short groove along the edge of that stark exposure.

“If you can’t-“

I manage between dry heaves, “You need…”  _Don’t puke. Don’t do it. Don’t you dare._  “…to be quiet…”  _Puppies, kittens, bunnies, baby sloths, all adorable and not disgusting things to imagine._ “…unless something’s…wrong.”

}]}———}>

“I’ve told you before Oliver, don’t talk to me like I’m other people.”

As the stress keeps chipping a bigger headache behind my eyes, my comments get more acerbic. I know it’s not helpful. I  _know_  that saying ‘I told you so’ is the  _opposite_ of helpful. I know we’ll figure a way out of here like always… _always, always, always._ I know by the small looks and brief squeezes of his hand that he knows it’s automatic, not meant with the harshness delivered.

After our first huge argument, in the temporary haven from this city that was Ivy Town, the one where we both went to different rooms to sleep because the shared bedroom held too many words flung at each other in anger, we had a long,  _long,_  talk. A couple hours of introspection and laying those self found flaws out on the table…we came to certain understandings. I don’t bitch about his sharp, increasingly shorter, outbursts, or his need for physical action to work through things, he doesn’t bitch about my verbal claws hunting for blood.

An agreement, a simple code, ‘Enough,’ and the other’s name means drop it, we can pick back up but for now it’s time to ease off. More importantly “I need some air,” is the stop, stop now, immediately, full stop, you-shall-not-pass public-friendly cue.

_We have to get out of here. Where else is there to try? What might Chase have overlooked?_

}]}———}>

The hint of sarcasm in his voice, his frustration with my comment, I’m sure compounded by his immediately prior, the one that was reassuring me of his faith in my own skills “By exactly do you mean exactly?”

_I wouldn’t have said exactly if that wasn’t what I meant._  His quip is just the mindless babble to let me keep talking. So I do as he looks down at me. “…Please don’t miss.”  _Of course he won’t miss, he’s Oliver. Oliver with lightheadedness and bloodloss, because I can see that wound still seeping through the stitches, and bandage, and shirt…_

He barely aims, just glares at the grate like it is actively trying to keep us trapped down here rather than an inanimate piece of metal.

_“_ You didn’t miss.” _Of course._

Oliver doesn’t even acknowledge the comment as he goes to see what’s beyond the gap in the wall.

}]}———}>

“I think I’m losing a lot of blood…” He talks craziness, and only because of his blood loss do I not call him out on what is a lie, even if he doesn’t realize it right now. _Needs me to know the truth? What the fuck did this psycho convince him of?_

}]}———}>

“Oliver come back! Come back! Oliver- Come back…” I press one hand as hard as I can over his wound, the other frantically feeling for a pulse, a heartbeat, any signs… I sob it, scream it, anything in an attempt to get through, “Oliver! Help me! Please? Oliver, please? Please help…please come back to me…”

}]}———}>

“Felicity I don’t- I don’t know that I can get us out of here.” His voice is full of hopelessness. Defeat.

It wars with my elation that he is awake, that he is up and walking and talking. That I’m not down here with the corpse of the man…of Oliver while waiting for the team to break in and save the day. _Ok, think of snark, get back to normal talk not this- this…_ “Well it’ll give us some time to talk about something. Like this crazy idea that you enjoy killing…”

}]}———}>

He comes back with the climbing gear, and a pack with a handful of small emergency air canisters. I don’t think I have ever been thankful to the Frogmen, but the fact that we had those left over due to them means this is a fantastic first time to be so. I ignore the look Oliver gives me as I make the praise, then bite down on the mouthpiece, sucking in a single deep breath and holding it. The next breath is the standard toxifying air down here…one more, then back to the oxygen. He is equally conservative with the water bottle sized tank in his hand. There aren’t many, we have to see how long we can stretch them, in case…

_Maybe three breaths between each safe one. Just to err on the side of caution._

}]}———}>

The canisters dwindle quickly. I failed to realize they only had, at most, a few minutes of oxygen in each. So as he explores the small room, and determines the only way we can go is back up and hope to find something, I save the last one, and stop using the oxygen I had been drawing from. I start hearing things…

Before letting him attempt that… _Don’t call it suicide. Staying here and doing nothing, that’s a guaranteed death sentence as the oxygen runs out._ I scour the plans, unrolling them and moving inch by blurry inch, for any possible things we overlooked the first, third, and fifth times searching. A faint empty area could indicate a possible tunnel under what we’ve made the spare living quarters.

I don’t know how he manages to climb back up the rope, or has the ability to pull me up afterwards. A handful of minutes and we’re coughing and gasping but at least on the right level to try the new last ditch attempt. He carries me to the wheelchair then uses the handles to steady himself as well as push me. Even so, my hands on the wheels help move us forward. When he stumbles I don’t give him a choice, he _does_ take the air I press to him. He pulls deep breaths, still leaning and pushes us faster.

We get to the small cluster of rooms and find the hallway door sealed, _meaning_ higher oxygen content. Not perfect but we both suck in lungfulls for too long, until that faint tightening indicates things are going to start to go bad _sooner than ideal_.

Oliver tears open the floor tiles, exposing the large rectangle of mesh. With far too much effort he gets the grating open, I hook an anchor around the support pipe while he drops a chem light down and peers into the hole.

“I…”

“What is it? What’s down there?” I demand when he doesn’t continue. Then he raises himself up, glancing over at me so fast, before looking back at the hole, I can tell it wasn’t intentional. “It’s a dead end.” Not a question. His face wouldn’t have looked like that if…” _They’ll find us_. You know the team, they’ll pull it off in the nick of time, pull miracles out of their-“

He drops to a crouch, cutting me off with the pained noise at the position.

My hands clench, trying to keep them to myself despite my instincts. “They’ll do it. Trust in them.”

“Felicity…We’re going to die down here.”

“Shut! Up!”  I push the wheels and bump into him, drawing out another hissed noise. “You give them time. They’ll do it.”

He stands and paces, “But if they don’t, there’s gotta be pen and paper around here somewhere…if you need to write anything to them, to your mom…”

“ _Hi mom, Oliver is being pessimistic as usual and is giving up instead of holding out hope that_ -“

“Because hope has done so much for us, right? It’s done such a great job, saving my parents, Sara, Laurel, the city, our relationship- It’s a foot of space down there, then solid concrete. That was our hope, our last chance.”

My voice is brighter than I feel, adamant when inside I’m slipping, “Hope and hard work. We’ve done what we can, the team has to be working hard. You just watch, they’ll make it in time. Hope and hard work brought Sara back and then restored her soul. We’ve brought hope, we’ve worked our asses off and we _have not_ failed this city.” The pride has to be on my face, has to shine through, because we have done so much good! “It brought your family back to you, it expanded those you call family. It let me walk again. Our relationship…Neither of us had good examples of working relationships growing up, we’ve talked about it. There was no saving _us_.” I inch my wheels backwards, this is not a good conversation for this place.

 “ _We did not talk about it!_ Yes, we’ve talked about our parents, our experiences, but you walked. You just left me- us. When I needed you most there wasn’t a thing I could say or do, you were just so hurt that I didn’t trust you with that, that you wanted to make me hurt just as bad and you walked away. Well congratulations Felicity, you excelled, and now I get to- got to work with you, got to see you…dating, trusting anyone but me with your heart, with what you’re think-”

_Did he just-?_ “You’ve dated too!”

He jabs his finger in the air at me, mouth going into a tight line as he takes a deep breath. “That’s not the point.” A pregnant pause and he lets the rest of it back out.

I quietly say, “We trust each other with our lives, but we’ve loved and lost, we can’t dare let someone crack our hearts. We’ve walled them up, impenetrable to save ourselves.”

}]}———}>

 “Sit down, you’re using all _our_ air doing that.” He has to stop moving, each footfall a grating tick of a clock as our air continues dwindling away.

He drops to the floor mid-pace, glancing in my direction then back at the failed escape route. Silence. Then, “I can’t get you out of my system.”

The words are so mild they take a long moment to understand. His body is rigid, the tensing of muscles instinctive as breathing for someone who feels the need to protect, save, defend. To someone like him, this, _being trapped_ , truly trapped…with…with whatever I am to him…and trying to prepare for the inevitable…it is a worse hell than what Prometheus did while keeping him captive.

_Oh…oh Oliver. Well, I mean, obviously he- And after we had that one…thing, he expected it to be more. He still wants more. Don’t think that like you don’t want more too! But he couldn’t- wouldn’t trust you…Does that mean I can’t do something for both of us? Since when are you timid? Just do it, you’re going to die down here anyways…what does it matter? Let him think…let us think that there could be more for us._

A hard shove at the wheels puts me next to him, he doesn’t move, doesn’t look up. Panting, I lean over taking the sides of his face in my hands, “Felici-?” I press my lips to his. Every hard edge of him tightens and after I give him a second kiss he gently pushes me away. “What are you doing?” Something, an unreadable something in his voice, tinged with frustration, anger, despair.

“Chase hasn’t shown, so there’s no one to for us to fight…We’re trapped, so there’s nowhere for us to flee… _So_ , Oliver, that just leaves one last in the drives of F’s to do, fight, flight, or…” I nuzzle the tip of my nose to his, playing off affection to hide my fear which is surely deep as his.

“Felicity-” His voice is full of that hidden scoff, like I’m talking crazy, which in this case I’m not. Oliver is breathing equally shallow breaths, consciously or not trying to make them last.

I hover my lips two inches over his mouth, not the easiest pose from this wheelchair, “Exactly. _Do ‘Felicity._ ’ I can’t think of a better way to go. Besides extreme old age of course, because obviously…” I don’t bother with sultry, or sexy, or any of those things. _He wouldn’t reject a flat out proposition, would he?_

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

_…Would he?_ “Then don’t say anything. I’m scared…” My next three words are soft, which always gives them more impact than shouting, “I’m fucking terrified.” His hand reaches for, laces with mine, instinctive. We were always good at the unspoken comforts. I say it because it’s true, even if I know better than to try and demand he do so, or waste the time and energy trying to physically make him go, “You refuse to do the smart thing and leave me, to try and save yourself.” I keep my eyes locked on his, letting the words sink in then slowly kiss him again.

He hesitates, gently pushing me back a handspan.

I stay back, relinquishing power to him beyond words that hold too much question in the delivery that’s meant to be encouraging. ”I love you Oliver, and you love me. Quit thinking, kiss me.”

He doesn’t. Just shuts his eyes tight, refusing to look at me. _Don’t…Don’t cry…We both have to give up at some point, and this…this is-_

He makes a low noise deep in his throat, then so quiet, I can only really tell what he says by the movement of his lips, whispering, “Fuck it,” before he’s kissing me back, tasting faintly of hard liquor and the hinted bitter of pain pills.

We are desperation unleashed. Thoughts disappear in the midst of a battle of lips, teeth, and tongues. A wordless pause to stare hard at each other before Oliver pulls me onto his lap. I need no further permission, capturing his mouth with mine again. Needing more, my hands, our hands, roam like electricity over and under clothes before we manage to shuffle them, eyes on each other as things are pushed open or up just enough to expose a few small swaths of bared skin. It’s not much but it’s better. His hand slips under where my shirt threatens to fall back into covering me with our motions. My fingers toy at his waist, watching his face as they move lower finding and griping through the cloth. I _need_ to feel his skin on mine. Modesty? Pride? They have no place here.

_I need you._ I silently beg, pulling him towards me as I lean back, he shifts and settles over me, between my legs with all that luscious heat. _If this is the last time someone will kiss my lips, hold me against them, I need all of you._

_You have me_. His eyes promise before he goes kissing down my neck trailing to my breasts, his hands kneading and stroking, pulling up my top further, making my body blaze. I arch into his touch, letting the need for more consume me. His path works down lower as I breathlessly fist my hands in his hair…then the sensation just stops.

I make a questioning noise. He makes a pleased one. It only takes a glance down my body, to see he’s kissing over my cloth covered skin which looks wonderful but…”Oliver,” I pant his name, swallowing hard. He looks up, smiles that devastating grin, his hands skimming and pressing along the seam of the fabric, “Hey,” He looks back down again, “hey, Oliver…remember I’m not feeling any of that work…”

His gaze is immediately back to mine, I can see the tightness around his eyes, “Sorry, got caught up in…forgot for a minute there.”

“Get back up here and kiss me senseless.” I strip off my shirt with a hinted smile. Then our lips are back on each other. I am reckless in my need to feel his skin except to try and be careful of the wound, giving it as wide birth as I can remember to. While his tongue chases a bead of sweat down my throat, I pull his hips into mine, feeling his appreciative noises rumble against my neck. That feels _really_ good. “Mmm…more…,” reaching down between us, I making him groan out my name as I stroke over what I find, then tug at the waist of his pants. “Wearing too much.”

His mouth pops free from my neck, pulling in a few hard breaths before leaning and bumping his nose against mine, “You’re one to talk.”

_Fine. I’ll take playful Oliver and raise you a shameless me._ I push at his chest and he backs up enough for me to pull the bra down my arms, he had already helped by unclasping it a moment ago. “Showing you mine, now show me yours?” It takes the blink of an eye for his shirt to disappear, one of those impossible one-handed tugs that somehow aligns everything perfectly so it can slip off without catching on shoulders or chins.

My pulse is pounding and I do not appreciate the delay and gap keeping our skin grinding against each other, even if I’m the one who made it. Tugging off my shoes I start the fast, inelegant shimmy out of my pants. He oh-so-kindly helps to shuck them down the lower half of my legs, tossing them out of the way. Seeing the red at his side I debate asking if he’s ok enough, especially as he makes a pained noise when maneuvering his own shoes off. _I don’t think either of us would stop even if he isn’t._ I open my mouth anyways, but Oliver’s already thumbing the button on his pants, and my train of thought scatters. He pauses as he’s pulling them off, staring at me with a slight frown and a huff.

I look down, confused, then blush, quickly tugging the batman undies off, throwing them over towards the pile of my pants. “What?” He just raises a brow at me. “They felt appropriate for my evening plans, I didn’t expect anyone to see them!”

“Of all the options-“

“All the options? You would have preferred red with a lightening bolt? Are you really going to waste time comparing yourself t-oh!” The rest of his clothes are shoved to the ground and I find myself picked up and lifted to straddle his lap. “You sure you’re up for this way? It’s extra work fo-“

“You sure you want to _waste time_ ” he mimics my tone from second before, “asking if I’m _up_ for anything?” He tugs on my hips so I’m rocked forward, then back a few inches, gliding me over him. I brace a palm on the floor and the other cups the tip of him with each push backwards, bumping my own skin on each pull forwards even if I can’t fee it with anything but my hand.

My heart hammers, blood thrumming with the need for this _right now_ at the view down. Never the sexiest, but with all our experimentation when it happened the first time, extra help is needed. Practicalities and such. So a very wet lick of my hand to spread over him, makes the glide smoother. He makes a noise, some breathy whisper I don’t quite catch, but the look in his eyes… _God I wish I could feel him._ My body knows, I can feel my pulse pounding, that tightness in my gut coiling down to the edge of sensation. That feeling when the implant is working is usually accompanied by clenching of muscles lower, instead now it just teases with the demands of my upper half.

Oliver leans up to capturing a mouthful of skin, and I don’t ask him about the position again. He slips an arm between us, aligning, or testing, or something. Then, in a sort of sit-up from hell move that has him flinching, favoring his side a bit, he kisses me long and deep, scattering any other thoughts from my mind.

It takes a discrete addition of a little more spit from him, then, “Ohhhh… Felicity…” hushes out as his eyes stay locked with mine. He settles me further down, onto him, lips parting as if searching for more but I skim a finger over them before he can say anything else. Staring down my body, seeing where we are joined, the play of his muscles…

One of his hands stays on my hip, helping me stay upright, the other follows his gaze, brushing the hair from my face, my lips, a snaking across my collarbone, lingering, toying at my breasts. I feel wanton, and needy. _If I could feel him grinding between my legs I would…_

I moan, frustrated, needing more. He teases my nipples in turn until they’re tight and aching and I’m pressing my chest forward into his grip, my own hand playing over the other side. He watches my reactions, the way he stares…Like he’s mesmerized. I breathe the words that pound in my mind. “You’re beautiful.”

Confusion is clear on his face as he falters for half an instant. “You are-“

“No, Oliver, I’m not asking for…You need to know just how beautiful a person you are. All of you, not just your body.” He smiles, I’m sure readying with some smartass remark, or denial, but I lean forward and he moves mirror instinctively so I can steal the soft noises escaping him.

His hand drifts over, and down my belly, nearly electric until it just stops, _again_. I make a questioning frustrated noise into his lips.

The touch stays nothing, my eyes open, glancing down then back to his, “Oliver?“

“Trust me, your body reacts, even if you mind doesn’t…” He leans up again, capturing one of my nipples with his mouth and reluctantly I bask in that attention, all thoughts but ‘ _More!_ ’ scatter from my mind.

Oliver provides the push and pull on my hips to help me ride, this is not our first time at _intimacy_ when I’m in this type of current state after all, we know the rhythms and motions.

But this is not time for leisure, something is frantic in my chest as we slowly work to lose ourselves in each other and the air gets harder to breathe.

“Get there…” I can’t, not yet, but I want, no I need it from him. “Please sweetheart-“

That makes me blink, pulling me from the moment, “Sweetheart?

He groans, as a teasing grin breaks across my face, “Honey? Beautiful? Babe?”

I laugh at the mix of old and unused endearments, pulling his hand up to my face, he thumbs over my lips then grips into my hair, along my jaw, kissing...licking…biting… “No _Mistress_?” I playfully murmer, “Or _pet_? Or _w_ - _oh my god!_ ” He does something and it turns into a plea for more. Again Oliver’s lips brush the skin behind my ear and I moan. ”Do that-!“ A soft suck to bring blood to the surface, making it extra sensitive…The light scrape of teeth- _Oh my god_ , “Do _that_ again! The… _yeah!_ ” My upper half squirms against him, unable to keep still. He repeats, sucking harder, stretching to get high on the back of my neck. “More!” He does. “Oliver that- More!” A hesitation and then he does, biting hard, hard enough to make me instinctively turn the plea into a yelp.

His mouth pops free “You ok?”

My demand is instant, “Like that, don’t stop!”

We had been passionate, needy, demanding, playful…all sorts of things including experimental and inventive after I was shot, but one thing he always was, was gentle. Sure there might have been a rough stripping of clothes, nipping of lips, light scratching or biting, but never ever anything that would intentionally bruise or bleed. When Oliver Queen and I were together it was always ‘making love’ because that’s how he is, or at least is now since I’ve only heard about how he was before his time on the island and Russia.

In the moment it’s always like he’s trying to prove he can love, that he does love you, like he needs to convince you that he’s something other than dangerous. I never minded, who would mind a partner who took it as a personal mission to get you off? The minimal trials into the moderate to harder edge _Hey-we’re-buzzed-why-not-try-it-because-YOLO_ things the other flings from college, before Cooper, had revealed _that_ had not really, or to be accurate _really not_ been my thing. For whatever reason this, this near piercing bite right there, is feeling crazy amazing.

When his tongue soothes over the ache I can’t help but jerk back and away. I shudder at the delicious pulse that teases through me with each movement of my neck. I bite my lip, staring down, then kiss him. Oliver’s hands keeping me moving in steady glides. I reach up and brush my fingertips over the spot. My whole body, or at least everything I can feel tenses up and I gasp out a whine, “More, please?” His face looks almost pained as he swears, hips bucking me up as his back arches, a sheen of sweat across his skin. “ _Please, Oliver?_ ”

He stares at my face, silent for a moment, kissing me, a soft parting of lips with tongue, growing fiercer like he is starving for it. He breaks the kiss with gasping and stolen touches, then rasps, “Turn over?” I nod, the low oxygen and the flickers of amazingness I keep getting result in a few seconds of dizziness as he pulls back. Gentle hands help slide me off him. Easing me over, onto my stomach before rolling overtop to cage me beneath his weight. Oliver grabs the handful of my hair and pulling it aside and over my shoulder to expose my neck.

The room spins ever so slightly and sparkles haze at the chem light glow, it’s like being just past tipsy, or what I can only assume tripping is like. A long mix of toying from between my shoulders to my hairline has me making his name a curse, demand, and plea all in one. He needs no other encouragement to return to everything he was doing, and more, teasing and testing.

_This might be the last time someone will touch me, the last time I’ll- Stop! Stop thinking about anything but right now._

The slight adjustment and the next push has him entering me, “God, Felicity! You feel-“

“More!” I demand, tugging his head back to that spot and holding it there with my freed hand. I can’t directly feel him thrusting and there’s no way I’m giving up that beautiful play of nerves to hear him describe what is numbness to me.

“Gotta slow down…”

“No,” I demand, “now.”

He doesn’t disappoint, his words almost lost against my skin amidst nibbles licks. “Like this?” He sucks the skin into his mouth, worrying it with bites.

A moan escapes me, pleading, “More.”

“Hmmm mmmm?” The same sound as his prior question just muffled by his action.

My response is high and breathy, words escaping my thoughts so I reach back, pushing his face harder against my skin. He takes the challenge, his next thrust forward moving me against the ground is harder and his teeth nearly pierce my skin. It feels like a mini orgasm as endorphins and who knows what ripples through me. _More!_ I moan loud as his tongue soothes the bite and he sucks over the burning mark.

He responds with a low groan. “You sure? Don’t want to hurt-”

“Please!”

“I love you.”

“Oliver-“ _I know,_ _I love you too, but_ “I need you, _you_ , now.” The chill of the floor pressed against my front, and the scorching heat of him against my back demand attention with every press and thrust. He pulls my hips up to meet his. Closing my eyes, god help me, I can remember just how good that felt , mixing memory with the now, and it’s almost too much to handle. Oliver’s arm is under me, pinching, palming, teasing to drag breathy moans from me, urging him on.

It is fast, desperate, inelegant. It is perfect.

He cradles my face and positioning my neck so he can keep at that perfect spot. His hand is right there, so I slide fingers over his, drawing his thumb past my lips, he makes a rough noise when I suck on it, his own lips and teeth mimicking my actions.

_“Oh my god Felicity, get there. Get there!” His teeth go beyond nipping, beyond bruising, as he gasps the demand, but in this instant it is exactly what I need. I moan out just how good it feels and his wordless noises tell me the same,_ but there is no way his heartbeat can be pounding the way it feels against my back. A throbbing ache spreads across every nerve,  _insisting on more, feeling like I’m coasting those last inches up, readying to be crashed full force into this._

_“Now Oliver, now!” I feel him shudder around me, pushing my body with his as he give a final thrust and he makes an amazing gasping wordless moan of losing himself, complete with sucking that sweet spot on my neck, that just does that last little shove past the edge for me. His ragged breath against my skin is in time with my own gasps, drowning out the rhythmic wet sounds from each increasingly erratic thrust. My pleasure overwhelms me, consumes me, makes the world and everything but this feeling irrelevant and I lose myself in the electric bliss of it._

_Eventually his head droops down over my shoulder and he twists us just enough to kiss my lips again, wrapping both arms around me while we ride it out through amazing aftershocks for what feels like minutes stretched into hours._

_“You ok?”_

I nod, my brain is too fuzzy to think of the words just yet. “I- I need…some air…”

“F-” I can’t tell if it was going to be my name or a curse but his whole postcoital calm threatens to vanish into exasperation, “You can’t! Can’t ask me not to-“

_What…? Oh damn it! That phrase works for any situation but this._ “No, not like…literally need air.” Oliver relaxes, kind of, again. Catching our breaths isn’t really working…his fingers lace with mine, wide eyes meeting wide eyes as we gasp. His hands stroke my skin. A nuzzle, another kiss, a shaky pair of laughs as we try to hold off the reality of here and now for just a few more...

Stars pepper my vision and don’t fade, settling reality back in again.

I manage to turn over and sit, pulling myself backwards. My bra is closest so I re-clasp it quickly and pull my shirt over it. The sudden quiet giving an awkward pause as Oliver turns back to me while I do so. Not much I can do to clean the evidence of the last few minutes is nearly obscene in the shine of the chem lights on my thighs and in a small puddle under where I lay. There is a smear of blood along my thigh, it takes half a second to realize it isn’t from me. My eyes scan down his hard muscles before seeing it, the wound, right where my leg would have numbly torn stitches and reopened it while he helped me ride. With a lack of tissues or anything useful I swipe what would be my sensitive parts clean with the dark panties. Wiping the blood away doesn’t work, just smears some lighter spots through the drying color staining my skin. I give up when it only takes a few seconds until I can’t find a clean bit of fabric. _Is he going to bleed to death or suffocate first?_

“I didn’t think about…we’ll deal with it after we-“

_How sweet, he thinks we’re getting out of this again._ “You may be proven virile…Mr. Queen, but you’re no match…for my pill…” I try to force a joking tone, hopeless blind optimism, into my strained voice.

“Let’s get out of here…kick his ass, then…figure out how to deal with…us. ‘k?”

“Got yourself…a deal.”

We both lay there panting. “Want me to-“

“Just get me my pants so…” _So they won’t find us half clothed when they…_ ”get my clothes then a kiss.”

“Think I…can do that.”

I give an unreasonable, embarrassed bite of snark when I spot him paused in his own dressing, and he startles, like he didn’t realize that he was watching. Then the joys of doing the awkward commando shimmy into my pants, it really is much harder when you have to dress your body like an uncooperative doll. Oliver takes the bunched up handful of fabric from me, “Larger pockets.”

“Just…” Each word is getting harder and there’s a definite dark speckled tinge to the edges of my vision, “trash them…” The inner part of me that grew up without much to spare gives a mental cry of despair. _Oh shut it, self. Like you’re getting the chance to waste money again._ Finishing the zipper, I rest back on my elbows, “I believe I… was promised kisses.”

He cages my body once more, kissing at my brow, temple, chin, before reuniting our lips.

“Was it worth it?” _Worth being the last intimacy of our lives?_

He kisses me again, “You know it was.”

The man has serious kissing skills, but is it those skills or our dwindling oxygen that’s making me see stars? The room is spinning so I quit sneaking glances of his face.

}]}———}>

There is a sharp noise somewhere nearby. _They did it!?_

“Encore. “ We break apart as the clapping continues, “I was always a sucker for romance.”

_No. No!_ The voice is obviously Chase, but the full helmet muffles and makes it sound faintly Vader-y, the clear visor doing nothing but emphasizing the madness in his eyes. He throws something hand sized down at us, Oliver somehow makes a dizzying jump into a crouch, some sort of defensive stance, and deflects the flimsy bit of whatever from landing between us, turning it over in his hands, assessing it’s potential of being something that goes boom, I guess before dropping it when determining it poses no immediate threat. He makes a far less fluid than normal move to grab his bow and quiver, notching an arrow. I don’t miss the tremors, or the way he keeps blinking, trying to focus as Chase moves back and forth somehow.

Chase gives another of his stupid ominous laughs, “You don’t get to die before I say you can Oliver. Though I will say, watching you slowly suffocating yourself or should that be watching you distract yourselves from slowly suffocating has put a certain fun in my day.” He gives me a wink and I curl, trying to get out of his view. He laughs and lobs something at us. Oliver knocks it to the ground with his bow. As the case hits the ground, the clasp breaks and a heavy metal cylinder clangs and rolls, bumping into my shoe. I look back up as Oliver pulls me towards the wall. _How is he still on his feet?_

“Let her go…It’s me you wa-“ A wheezing cough, “want to hurt.”

“No, Oliver. No. No. You don’t understand me at all…It’s you I want to destroy. Barbie there, she’s right behind you in line. We all know you don’t have the brains to fuck up my life with a computer. You shouldn’t have been able to do that.” I can’t tell if he’s pointing a gun or just his finger at me. “This’ll be a fun night.”

 Chase laughs, turning his focus to me, “Really, it’s just great of you two to do the dying I love yous, it’ll make this hurt that much more. Always thought you were weak, a little whiney background noise, assumed you weren’t strong. Taking what you want looks good on you Ms. Smoak.” He grins so wide his eyes crinkle at the edges, “Good for you girl, always _pegged_ you for a freak, but then with what I found on your computer…did Oliver tell you I was there in your apartment with you? My, my, you look good in _command…Oh_.” He gives a short pause.

_Did he…did he just…_ My skin crawls.

“You son of a bitch!” Oliver growls out and I grab at his arm as Chase laughs and yells out another taunt.

Touching him, trying to get his attention, hissing his name when that fails, “Oliver!” His eyes meet mine. “He’s trying to distract you. Ignore it, his crap, focus. There must be another way he got in …”

A handful of arrows are flying at us, Oliver can’t move fast enough and a couple tease and nick my skin. Then as abruptly as he appeared, Chase is just gone.

“You…ok?”

I nod, “What…is…that?”

“What?”

}]}———}>

 “The case, get me…” He snags it and pulls it over with the end of his bow, tubing and a small plastic…mask! I look at the thing, a kit, I saw one when ordering supplies once, for high altitude climbing… _Why would he give us emergency oxygen? How would he have known it would be needed? Oh who cares!_

“The canister, I need-“ he drops down beside me, wheezing. It takes shakey seconds as I hook it up and work the valve, a faint hiss of movement and I start to press it to my face.

Oliver’s fingers bump mine, “Don’t…could…be…!”

“He said…” _You don’t get to die…”_ suffoc…ating anyways…” I press the small triangle over my nose, flick the valve and take a deep breath of cool, slightly stale air. My lungs suck it in, greedily expanding, holding that breath deep I press the mask to his face before he pushes it away and pants for the last remnants of oxygen in the room. “Oliver, please?” Immediately I press it over his face, he gives a faint shake of his head. “Trust me!” I hiss, letting as little air escape as possible.

Oliver keeps frowning in concern. _Like this is more concerning than being without?_

“Oliver-“

He still doesn’t inhale, “Not you…I don’t…”

“Please?” I have to breath in another breath of toxic air, and pant it out again, “I can’t watch you…” _Don’t say it, don’t think it. We might get out of here after all._ ”Please?” My mind keeps warring between optimism and pessimism, I can’t tell if brain cells are dying or if it’s just panic.

He takes a breath, another, then presses it back to me. I greedily fill my lungs. We pass it back and forth for long moments as if diving on dry land, before I notice the pressure valve slowly but steadily nudging down from the quarter tank indicator. _Frack!_ “Ol…”

I motion towards it not letting the rest of my air escape, he looks, the groans. “You ok?”

“Ok as I can be… How’s your side?”

“It’s…”

“Don’t lie to me, “ I gesture at the spot I had found the stain on my skin where it pressed, “it’s bleeding.”

“Don’t have time for it to matter.” He’s already moving to pick me, and the oxygen, up. I hold the mask to his face, keeping the tank up with me, eying the gauge critically. He’s doing the physical labor, and the one injured, and the one not basically useless in this situation, so I try to hold each breath until I’ve burned through everything useful before taking the next shallow gasp.

}]}———}>

He strains, but manages to get us back to the main room, weaponing up, slowly staggering us back to the original drop, he sets me down with the tank, taking a deep breath before securing the rope and motioning for me to grab back on.

_Back to this, it will work, there has to be something down there we missed._

“Ready?” Oliver asks, flexing his grip on the rope. I just squeeze my arms tighter once. “On three-“

The blow comes out of nowhere, throwing us, thankfully, backwards and away from the hole. Not so thankfully, backwards as Oliver lands directly on top of me.

Stunned, I can only groan while he rolls off, holding his bloody side while standing, preparing for the next strike. “You ok?” He spares a look at me while searching the shadows.

“Think so.” The words are strained, but the tone is clear. _Focus on the psycho, not me_. There is the smallest whisper of something moving to the right, then they’re fighting in a dark tangle. Wet thuds and gasping. Then Oliver’s near me again. An arrow hits the ground another skitters into the pit, clattering as it scrapes down the wall and hits the bottom. A not so pleasant hint at how long a drop it would be.

“Run.” I whisper, “Go, run, now!” He grabs my arm, starting to pull me to his back when I hiss, “No, _you_ , run. Find how he got in. Get to the team, get help, but get out. Leave me, he’ll follow you, but you can get out. When it’s safe you can come back for me. You need to go. Now!”

A body slams into him, our arms dragging apart as he is flung away. Things don’t go quite to whatever _Crazy_ has planned because Oliver manages to rip the oxygen mask off Chase’s face as they fight into the shadows. Sounds of blows being dealt and pained grunts as they are received fill the small area and I have the options of laying there, helpless, dragging myself towards our potential escape so at least I’m out of the field of play.

A tangled pair of bodies come crashing into view, blood running from cuts, and mouths, and noses. Both wheezing from exertion as much as to get the scraps of breathable oxygen from the air. Chase head butts Oliver so hard they both get dazed. Oliver manages a savage kidney blow but Chase just laughs through it, taking them back to the shadows. More noises, then Oliver comes tumbling, uncontrolled back into the light. I scream his name as he disappears into the hole. Almost immediately a noise of pain, and the sound of his body impacting a wall, another impact, then a muffled landing. “OLIVER!” I drag myself towards the drop. _I have to see him, I have to-_

Chase smiles as he emerges, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve and kicking one of the chem lights down. Peering into the darkness as I pull myself to look. There is a red spot on the wall about a foot down, another on the other side at a sharp angle lower, then at the bottom, a motionless lump of barely lit shadows… _He’s dazed. Stunned. He’s just- He’s- He’s fine, he’s just_ \- ”OLIVER? OLIVER SAY SOMETHING! OLIVER!”

}]}———}>

A hand clamps around my mouth, fingers digging in across my cheeks and jaw. “I’m gonna need you to shut up for a minute if you don’t want me dropping you on top of him to stop the screaming. Save it for when I get him to beg.”

I try to bite him, my fingernails digging into any skin they can reach. He only grips tighter, pinning his elbow against my chest while wrapping the rope around his free arm, then we’re falling. The rope pulls taut and he kicks us off the wall, down, down…He drops me the last couple feet, laughing at my shrieking.

I fight through the instinct to lay there, using elbows and hands to drag myself over to Oliver’s still form. I can’t breathe, can’t speak, feeling desperately for a pulse, a breath, anything to show he’s alive. _There!_ A faint wheeze of air past his lips. The quietest hint of a moan escapes.

“Oh no Oliver, do I have to repeat myself? You don’t die till I say you can. I have lots more fun planned for you.”

}]}———}>

Chase teases my name. “Felicity. Ms. Smoak. Fi. Liss. Ti. They just don’t roll off the tongue like Overwatch, how about I call you Smoak. You’re all smoke and mirrors; your tricks always from behind that screen. Imagine my surprise when you went and managed to screw up this nice little bit of planning. You were supposed to be alone. Take away your toys, your friends, your mobility, and see how fast you break. Would it take a week like he did? I even managed to find a batch of vertigo to make things more interesting. Imagine of how it would have hit him.” He makes a sound of savoring the thought, “Knowing you were down here, helpless, just like him, when he finally could get to you, broken, or lifeless…”

Chase grabs back onto me dragged me my hair. I claw his arm until he grabs my throat. Twisting I strike out as best I can but it isn’t good enough and gets me a brain rattling smack to the side of my face. “You think you have anywhere safe from me? Your homes, your work, all your bases, I can be anywhere.”

My mind does an unwelcome panicked repetition of the _All Your Base_ rather than thinking of something helpful.

_Oliver! Oliver please!_

He throws me to the far side of the room before crouching back down by Oliver’s body, taunting, “So good of you to do the ‘I love you’s, it’ll make this hurt that much more.” His voice is playfully singsong, “Hey Romeo, don’t want to leave your Juliet hanging.” _Oliver. Oliver. OliverOliverOliver!_

A barely breathed groan from where the chem light fell, “F-lici…?”

“There he is!” There is glee in his voice at Oliver’s response.

Crawling on my arms to get back to Oliver, trying not to move him, trying to do something useful, but all I can do is block Chase from looking at him with my body as the shield. That tone is back, “Oh no Ms Smoak, star crossed lovers are always separated by immeasurable distance.” He strides over, kicking away Oliver’s bow, I am lifted up by his hand across my face, his fingers digging roughly into my cheeks and jaw. He jabs back with things we said, earlier… _How long was he listening? Has he been right here the entire time? Was he just watching to see if we’d die or escape?_

A falsetto to mock me, “… _this wasn’t working_ …” A soft rasp that sounds nothing like Oliver, turning into the song refrain“… _I’ll always love you_ …” He jokes, sing-song and playful, reminding me how Oliver shot Billy, what kind of rush he got when Oliver discovered it wasn’t him. Flirts as he talks about how sweet it was to hear us talking in our stressed hours of darkness. Analyzing Oliver and my relationship like a psychopathic couple’s therapist. Talking about the issues he sees, mockingly throwing things we said in the past few hours back in my face. He laughs and prowls but all I can focus on is Oliver. I feel around, searching for anything. Behind me, the bow. I grip it tight. _The arrows, one has to be around here, just one, please…_ It takes seconds but it feels like hours until my fingers skim across the familiar shape.

 “Oliver, the dance has just begun…you know who I found the other day?” There is no response, “Come on, you have to play the game. You’re not gonna die until I say you can, and that’s only happening when I’ve destroyed everything you love, including this little fella.” He holds up a phone, scrolling through images. “Took this one yesterday, we’re becoming friends.”

He croons and shouts at Oliver, whose eyes flutter, fighting to open, failing as his head lolls back.

I stay silent as I prop myself up and pull back the bowstring. _Did he really think all these years and I wouldn’t at least practice to use the arsenal?  I’ll have to thank Oliver and John for their paranoia. I’m not a great shot, but I’m not missing at this distance. Take a breath, aim at his core, let go with an exhale in three…two…one._

He makes a strangled noise, dropping. I crawl over to him, grabbing the arrow he had been playing with and stabbing it into him, because fuck him and any chance of magic or something else bringing him back. Pushing him further away, precious inches, I fumble for his gun following the strikes, emptying every remaining chamber into his chest. I lose myself for a moment of screaming and crying. When I focus on something…Red… I reach towards…”Oliver? Oliver please?” His eyes open once. He’s breathing but that is the most positive, only positive… I’m sobbing, rocking over him, trying to hold the deepest wound closed enough to stop the bleeding, hysterical… Encouragements whispered, promises that he’ll be ok, that everything will be ok…

}]}———}>

Oliver is still unconscious, barely taking struggling breaths, when there is a small explosion quickly followed by a figure climbing through the hole in the wall. Part of me recognizes it is a John Diggle sized, sounding, scented-despite-the-overwhelming-gamey-tang-of-blood-coating-us person, but that part of my rationale is buried by the panic of the rest.

I go a little crazy as they rush to the rescue…


	20. Realizations and Conversations 3/3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided the next part could be it's own chapter rather than the latter part of this so it's a bit shorter than intended...Sorry for the delay, forgot about everything that was going on this week and the prep I needed to do for it.
> 
> Unbeta'd - if you see any glaring mistakes let me know and I'll try to fix them :) Thank you for reading.

I stutter, clammy hands rubbing my eyes hard enough to banish the image of him being dragged from my grip, finding my heart racing, the pills gone. The sour tang hanging around me like a cloud, sweat stinking of fear, is part memory, part reality. My eyes dart around the room, hands twisting, as I ground myself with the feel of the real world.

A deep breath, then another. _Did I censor any of that? How long have I been talking?_ The free spilling words abruptly turn tight, and fragmented. “I…I think I…No, I _was_ in shock, I had a concussion, I…the rest of that, the hospital, the… _That,_ all of that, is what you don’t remember. Yet.” _Sometimes I wish I didn’t remember it either._

A glance at the clock shows it’s been a couple hours. I don’t know if he’s waiting for more details or just following my demand for silence, but I’m already passing through the wide doorframe without him saying a word. I let the lock click closed loudly behind me and keep going until I get the shower on. Washing away the sweat, I scour myself until my skin stings. Hopefully it will push away the memories that want to keep replaying, inching day by day through what I remember after the hospital.

}]}———}>

I don’t sleep well, so it is late…late-ish when I finally force myself out of the room into the silence of the rest of Oliver’s place. One goal, one… _Well not step._ One _something-that-I’m-too-damn-tired-to-think-of_ at a time towards the coffee maker. The hairs on the back of my neck start to prickle, making me uneasy, I try to identify the faint sounds…HVAC, refrigerator, street traffic… I listen harder, something…something… _What is it that is out of-?_

“Hey.”

I shriek. Embarrassingly loud and almost comically high pitched, the noise has Oliver fumble something that clatters to the ground before I stifle myself. He looks as rough as I feel.  “W-what are y-y-you doing here at-”A glance at the clock, confirms I’m not crazy, he’s never here this late, a breath before continuing, “nine on a weekday?”

The words are slurred, “Sick day.”

He’s still sitting in the same place…reeking of alcohol, I can see from his swaying he’s exhausted, very far from sober, or both. “Have you moved from that chair?” Obviously he has, to get the alcohol if nothing else, but frazzled nerves have me asking anyways.

It is the first blow in our equivalent of a knock down, drag out, yelling match. Only it’s us, so out voices barely get loud enough to travel across the room. Softly spoken words hiding churning emotions buried in the depths of practiced masks. “Oliver-” He is slowly trying to stand up, but just sort of falls back into the chair, “Did you sleep?”

I get a red eyed look, an accusation in his voice, “You?”

“…Some.”

“Been thinkin’…cleared a few…things tha’ didn’t… make sense.”

I push myself to the fridge and grab a coconut water. Oliver’d stocked them ironically on and off over the years since John and I went to get him off the island, but they work just as well for hangovers as they do with some of the more grueling workouts.

“I couldn’t protect you.”

I quit twisting open the bottle of pain meds, “ _Excuse_ you?”

“He hurt you…I hurt you.”

_Exactly how much have you had to drink in the past few hours?_ “No. Chase hurt both of us, he _nearly killed_ you.” A sigh escapes and I palm two pills before leaving the bottle out, “You did a damn good job at keeping us alive, and you didn’t hurt me. Besides, I’m…” _Don’t say fine, that will make things worse,_ “getting better now.”

“You didn’t think I _deserved_ to know?” A shot fueled by anger of frustration.

My defense, “I _didn’t know_ you _didn’t_ know.”

His disbelief, “At the hospital I told-“

I start my rationale as I wheel myself back over, “You had just woken up from a coma! And you had some memories, you-“

“I had fragments, and not many. Those that were there didn’t make sense. Then you were gone-“

A shove has the drink and meds on the end table nearest him while I interrupt, “Gone? That’s not…that’s not fair and you know it!” _But that was still my fault._

His voice raises above a hush, “And you’re still hiding things.”

Mine matches his, “So what if I am?”

Oliver drinks straight from the depleted bottle downing the ibuprofen with it, ignoring the non-alcoholic help. With a disgusted sigh I grab it back and turn my wheelchair towards the kitchen, “The marriage certificate-”

“I did what I had to do to get that implant in your back. If I could go back in time I’d make the same-”

He talks over the end of my interruption, “What you said last night…” His fingers slide up the back of my neck and I go rigid, pushing hard to clear the couple feet so I’m out of reach, “Your secrets are always big. Is there anything _else_ I should know?”

_I just told you everything about that night! Now you don’t believe me?_ “Don’t even try to say that like you aren’t the _king_ of hiding things.”

He can’t argue it, but he tries, “This fucking life. I don’t-”

I pivot and find Oliver looking at me, eyes moving unsteadily, I don’t know what he’s seeing but I’m sure by the points of focus before his eyes drift up to the ceiling that it’s not me, at least not in the present.

This conversation is going nowhere. “You need to shower and sleep, not necessarily in that order. Get up.”

He scoffs.

_Do not-_ “Oliver, get up!” He flinches, at my raised voice or the words I’m not sure, but his body moves before his brain can catch up and stop him. He stumbles and only his reflexes and couch save him from crashing to the floor. “Hold on to my chair, you’ll stay in William’s room. Don’t go up the stairs like this, I can’t help if you break your...” _Don’t finish that!_

The demand rather than request is effective. Working hard to shuffle along as I slowly push the wheels, wordlessly escorting of him to the bed manages. He manages to hit the end of the bed without passing out on the floor, so…progress.

}]}———}>

A shout has me immediately on edge…then another comes, now that I’m paying attention it is familiar. It takes less than a minute to get to William’s room. Oliver is on the bed, hands fisted, back bowed taut, sweat painting any exposed skin and sticking his thin shirt to him.

I quash the urge to just reach out and let the physical touch pull him from his nightmares. I learned that lesson early on.

 

_He cries out where he fell asleep, the computer is taking an eternity to crunch the data._

_“Everything alright over there?” John’s voice carries over from the training equipment, the soft tread of bare feet echoing as he follows the words in this direction._

_“Yeah, Oliver’s just having a bad-” My hand brushes Oliver’s and before I can register what’s happening I’m launched over, away. Time seems to slow to a drag, and the dress does not allow the range of motion my body tries to use in order to avoid the sharp points I’m hurtling towards._

_John does some crazy Olympic level leaping twist over the equipment, our eyes locking for a fraction of a second, then he’s catching me, or I’m crashing into him, depending on perspective. I’m disoriented as he pops me down into a chair, able to nod when he asks again if I’m going to be ok for a minute, then he’s away._

_Oliver is still thrashing, letting out agonized protests. Things are back to normal speed as John gets himself into some painful looking tangle of limbs, neither one quite ‘winning’ as John shouts Oliver’s name, for him to ‘Wake up man, it’s a nightmare.’_

_Oliver is wide eyed, confused, then worried. I shake my head when John glances my way, and thankfully he doesn’t mention the acrobatics, simply stating that Oliver didn’t hurt anyone. When he heads to the bathroom to gather himself I am treated to a quick John-style rundown on the best and worst things to do for PTSD sufferers when they are caught in a memory and a danger to themselves or others, and when they are safe._

_The next time it happens, Oliver and me down here. He was almost asleep on his feet, and as soon as he sat he was out. His sleep grew restless and eventually the pained noises came. I tried to leave him alone but lasted maybe two minutes, quietly singing the simple but kind refrain, “Don’t worry…about a thing…’cause every little thing’s gonna be alright…” Thankfully it helped ease him back into more pleasant sleep_

_I use the song, either words, or attempting to whistle it, with pretty good success. Usually he wakes up after a minute, but sometimes just transitions out of the bad memories into much needed sleep._

_Our relationship changes and I don’t even think of the complications it could pose until one early morning I wake up to the feeling of being squeezed, crushed, immobilized, in his grip._

_‘I can’t exactly not touch him like this…’ I use words and softness, instead of my usual song, letting my lips rest on his skin while saying his name. As his body relaxes he keeps me gripped tight, breathing hard against my hair. My hands stroke over his skin and within minutes he is surfacing, questioning. Instead of letting him turn to guilt or concern I take advantage of the closeness and distract with a delightfully amorous round of ‘cardio.’_

_The nightmares ease off, nearly disappear as we travel. He usually doesn’t talk about them, just mentioning, “Island” or “League” and leaving it at that. I am not sad to see them fade, nor when the compromising tangles end up as middle of the night snuggles and reassurances through touch._

It’s been so long since I sang anything, let alone that song the words are choppy, my voice almost hoarse as I hum the first line into the tune, “…cause every little thing’s gonna be alright…”

He doesn’t wake, but the nightmare turns to regular sleep after many repetitions. I keep going for a couple more minutes then retreat to grab a couple hand weights, some food, and hide like the coward I am behind a closed door.

}]}———}>

A few hours later he shouts, the first sign that he’s awake, loud enough for the noise to travel to me in my temporary room. “I’m going out!” The front door slams without waiting for a response.


	21. Standstill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Thanks for reading.

I’m exhausted, last night being no better than the one before for sleep, so I spent hours online rather than deal with the nightmares and memories that promised to come. Oliver didn’t come back until a couple hours ago, though I listened in to the team by hacking into the comms during the night’s escapades. The alarm notification beeps from the door opening had me look up from where I was repacking my bag a third time at the table. I paused in my nestling of the laptop so it was better protected and he assessed me with a long stare. “Let me change and I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

I balked, the dark circles ringed under his eyes were not from any lingering traces of makeup under his mask, “Don’t worry about it, go ahead and sleep. The cab should be here in a little bit.”

That battle of wills didn’t go well, but on the plus side we were so busy arguing about that stupid car ride that I forgot my nervousness for nearly an hour, then focused on my ‘ _win_ ’ all the way to here.

Now, picking at a few invisible pieces of lint, I recline on the gurney. I don’t remember prep taking so long, and it has me chewing on my thumbnail down to the quick. Alone, by my own demand and not the lack of offers from friends and…friends.

 _I can’t have anyone else in here with me, not now, not with so much hinged on this going well. What if it doesn’t work? What if it’s been too long? What if the scar tissue is too thick, too bad, too deep?_ _What if the modifications fail? Thank all the anesthesia precautions of fasting before this, because my stomach is all twisted up in knots._

I roll to my front as instructed, scooting myself central as best I can while the straps and tubes are readjusted. The nurse helps move my lower half into position after I get myself mostly situated. I look around the room, seeing the scans and images from the tests, notes and tools, everything- _everything in its place_.

They take my glasses, putting them in a case on one of the trays and ignoring the revulsion… _trying_ to ignore the revulsion. People keep coming over, noting a vital sign, placing some sort of mark or sensor on my skin, too many hands and too many people within touching range, it makes my skin crawl. I count and sing in my mind when meditating fails horribly, trying to distract the fact that they fit straps on my arms, loose for now…. I’ve made it the past thirty five hours as the doctor ordered…One last pill after the disaster of a _discussion_. Ten hours spare on the no unapproved medication for one full day prior to the surgery limit they gave me, I don’t want to mess this up… _If I do how much longer would it be before I was given the go ahead? What else would they require before doing the surgery?_ _I don’t need one, I just want one, I DON’T need one, I just WANT one…_

The anesthesiologist comes over, double checking the chart with my details, asking if I’m ready to start.

“I don’t want to feel any of it,” My voice strains in my throat but with work it is full of false confidence, “not the iodine, not the double checks, knock me out cold.”

She laughs, measures something out into a syringe, and starts to add it to the IV already dripping saline and the last of the antibiotics into my system. “All right. I’m going to need you to count backwards from ten for me, ok?”

Last time I made it to five, this time I don’t.

}]}———}>

I feel heavy, cloudy and heavy. “Eeh-“ _Eight._ My mouth is cottony dry, my throat aches, the word more of a gagging cough than a proper number.

“Don’t talk, the breathing tube is still in.”

I’m shivering hard, can’t stop it, and my heart is racing uncomfortably fast. _Is something going wrong…it doesn’t hurt…Is it just to warm me up?_ My back is killing me, the pain radiating out even with numbness creeping towards but not quite reaching the surgery spot.

Confused, I blink once at the nurse in pastel scrubs beside me and slip back into unconsciousness.

}]}———}>

It takes a moment to focus. I’m on my side, staring. The room is different again and my eye, still hazy, dart from corner to corner. I suck in a breath, trying to clear my head. _Was that sound from me?_

“You o-? How are you feeling?”

 _Oliver?_ My throat still aches, but it’s more an echo than feeling like something is in it. The words rasp out, “Cold…gonna…vom-” I swallow hard rather than finish the word, I know from experience it’s from the anesthesia for both, and there’s nothing in my stomach _to_ purge, but it doesn’t stop the churning. _Why is he here? He was…something…something other than worried._

“In pain?”

I close my eyes, trying to focus. It doesn’t help, “…’S ok.”

“There’s a button for more morphine, right here.” He slips something between my fingers. I press it, but don’t feel anything, or rather I still feel _something_ , so I press it again, frowning when the sharpness doesn’t ease off.

“Takes a couple minutes to kick in.” Oliver puts his hand on mine, talking in a slow, calm voice, “They said it went fairly well. Not too much extra damage, the implant was easy enough to place once they upped the drugs, and the power is functioning correctly according to the tests.”

 _He’s talking too fast, so fast he’s blurring._ “Drugs?”

My hand is squeezed, seconds tick by before he says, “You apparently started surfacing, panicking, your vitals were everywhere at a rather delicate part of the surgery…they had to bring in the big guns.”

“Guns?”

 “Heavy dose of something, and a breathing tube to be safe.”

There is a glow around him, like a prince in a fairy tale. _These drugs are bananas._ I try to lift my arm, to move the hair out of my face, to prove to myself I can control some part of my body, “How…long?” My hand trembles but doesn’t move in the direction I meant and it’s like something not connected to me, so I try to blow the errant hair away.

I blink as he moves the strands away from my eyes, not so discretely checking how I follow the motion of his hand before kissing my forehead “You’re in recovery,” _No, not- How long ‘till it works?_ “your mom is just outside for when they approve visitors.”

 _Then how…are…you…? Never….mind._ The coldness and ache has started to go sort of hazy…the whole room has. What feels like a goofy smile spreads over my face, “My mommy’s here?”

“You think you could keep her away once she found out…from someone else, you were in Star City _and_ going into surgery?”

“She loves me.”

“I know….” He takes a breath to say something else but someone else walks in.

}]}———}>

The nurse has been in, and the surgeon, checking, testing, doing something, but I’m still getting large amounts of pain meds, including a new one to try and get at that intense deep nerve pain, and they are _wonderful_. I can’t really muster the need to care, pressing, testing the pain medicine button when I remember it’s there. _I’m just gonna take a little nap while they change the dressing…_

Something touches my face. “Hey there Sleeping Beauty.”

 _That voice - my_ _mom? When did she…_ I drag my eyes open and try to focus on her but she’s so many colors it’s distracting. _She’s crying. Why is she crying?_ “Sleeping B…I don’t have babies… She woke when babies…” The fairy tale she woke from nursing babies…“Kissing doesn’t make babies…” Mom and Oliver look funny... “Why that face? If kisses made babies he would have a billion babies…He’s kissed soooo many…and you-”

“Look,” Oliver pulls something from his pocket and catches the light with it, “sparkly.”

I sigh on an exhale, utterly absorbed by the rainbows scattering around the room, “You _never_ use your magic. So pretty”

}]}———}>

I’ve been self conscious of my legs since emotions started coming back to me again. My brain knows they’ve seen them at their worst, when I first ‘ _came back_ ,’ but even then I kept them covered and off limits for touching as much as possible. Now…now people keep trying to see, to touch them, touch my back…just too much trying to touch me.

I have to work with the physical therapist, at least for a couple weeks. In the initial consult in the hospital, before she starts the daily home visits I stress the need for hands-off as much as possible and privacy being key, so when she starts the initial session her first move after pleasantries is to promptly boot Oliver and Mom out of his place for the hour we’ve got scheduled.

I don’t panic, I’m too tired to panic, too frustrated. I’m never at ease with the attention, even if she’s fully professional. The hopeful looks I get from the two banished, upon their return, just digs into my own sense of failure.

}]}———}>

My palm smears another tear away as I glare at the mirror. _I know better. There was no way this would be instant, but come-fucking-on! It’s been almost two months! I should at least have SOME progress. Any progress. Anything._ Disappointment fuels my work and I keep up the exercises even though the trainer is only on a requested consult basis now. I don’t request, so she doesn’t consult, and that’s nobody’s business but my own. I curse my stupid body, curse stupid ARGUS, curse my so-smart-it-is-stupid brain for getting me into a situation that would do this to me. In a low moment of frustration I throw the last of the stupid pain and the stupid panic pills into the trash compactor the cracking and crunching of the plastic bottles giving me at least a small satisfaction for a couple seconds.

Ever since I convinced Mom she needed to give me some space, that she could visit again soon but to please just go home for now…after that I’ve had my days mostly alone. I’ve even ventured out onto the balcony for a minute on more than one occasion. _I’m doing better in everything else, why won’t my stupid body just utilize the stupid implant!?_

}]}———}>

Two days later my hiss is quiet, drowned out by the shower, “Stupid, stupid, why are you so stupid!” An equally muffled, pained noise escapes when I transfer myself from the wheelchair to the seat in the shower. Even the stretch to get the handle of the showerhead and turn it on is almost too much for me to push through.

A long time and the strongest dose of what’s in the medicine cabinet helps take the sharpest edge off, then I reluctantly wheel into the main room. A breath and the words quickly rush out as fast as I can pronounce them,“Can-I-please-get-your-help-with-working-out-a-muscle-cramp-that-”

Oliver startles from where he’s sprawled across the couch watching some sports tournament thing, “Can I what? Is something wrong?”

 _Nope._ “I…” A breath and still I’ve thought better of it, “Nevermind.” A push backwards on the wheels takes his face out of my sight, “Nevermind, it’s nothing.” His head pops up like a damned bunny trying to hone in on a noise.

“You said that too fast, what do you need?”

 _This is why I don’t ask for help._ I grit my teeth then bite onto my lip, inching backwards as he does a sort of stretch thing that extends his legs over the back of the couch, then a fluid movement has him casually striding over, the loungey pants making a soft swishing noise with each step. “I don’t…I’m- It’s stupid, I didn’t think before talking.”

He crouches down in front of me, not touching, a good body length between us…not that he couldn’t cross that in an instant. “Please, just tell me how I can help.”

I war with myself, not quite able to watch him staring at me. “I…was…just..” My words drag out reluctantly. “Could you work out a knot I have between my shoulders.”

His inhale is audible. Internally I cringe. _I wouldn’t let him resume the massages since before the surgery, and I haven’t asked him, willingly asked anyone to touch me in…well I can’t remember…since before that, maybe since we were trapped down in the-_ I glance at him and see his eyes wide. _It’s been a while, but it’s not like it’s important or anything..._

It is an awkward dance of hesitancies and permissions that ends up with me staring at the TV while he explains what the players are doing while soothing the worst spots. I couldn’t possibly do something like fall asleep, no, I just rested my eyes until some sort of on-screen airhorn blasted. Then it’s a curse from him as he mashes the mute button from the chair to the left.

I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth and rub over my eyes, “Oh…sorry-” Then I recognize the feeling of loose relaxed muscles, “I mean thanks, that helped.” _Oh! That clock has to be wrong, or daylight savings, or something-_ A glance at the window showing the darkening sky that is taking the side of the clock over my brain. _I did not just nap for two hours out here!_

His stare at the television is obviously forced, but at least it’s an attempted façade, “No problem…at all…anytime you want-“

“Yeah, thanks, I’m-” _Don’t say-_ “fine.”

Oliver doesn’t move but I can practically feel his need to try and ‘fix’ radiating off him.

 _Ehhh….Give him something..._ “Are you hungry? I’m feeling like…I think I’m getting hungry.”

His eyes dart to look over at me. _That does it._ “I was actually planning to head out to Big Belly Burger, William mentioned the Kid’s Pack has some new hero figures he’s been collecting so-“

“Sounds great.” I rush out.

“Great, you want to wear that or change?”

 _Wait…did I just commit to going there?_ “How about doing drive through?”

“Let me just get in a pair of jeans.” While he goes up to his closet and does that I get back in my wheelchair and finger comb through my hair.

...

As we pull forward Oliver asks, “Know what you want?”

“Just a burger, plain, please.” He orders it and another with a shake, He checks that I don’t want one added to my burger, definitely no, and he orders a Kid’s Pack because they refuse to sell the figures separately.

The bored tone squawks, “Do you want the toy to be a boy or a girl?”

“I want a boy toy, thanks.”

 “You and me both.” The words escape before I can stop them.

There is a staticky laugh from the speaker and an eye roll from Oliver.  _Wait…how did..HE started the awkward words this time, not me?_

After Oliver pays and we get the bags, there are two different toys in there.

…

As we turn back onto the main road he comments while getting up to speed, “You don’t have to wait, you can eat yours on the way if you’re hungry.”

“Did you want me to drive while you…” I trail off as reality cuts in before he does.

“Thanks Felicity, I’ve got it, but I’ve got my shake, feel free to start on yours.”

“Last time I ate one of these I ended up vomiting it back out on the side of a road, so I just want to eat it somewhere where I’m not going to be combining things I don’t like again.” Exercise, puking, and doing both in front of other people.

}]}———}>

Oliver thinks I don’t like William. I know that thought has to be going on in his head, even though I encourage him to go visit and ask the right questions. The things I need to say but can’t keep me awake before his next visit. _I don’t hate William. I never hated William. I was hurt by the fact that you told so many people but not me. If you had kept it from everyone else like Samantha had asked and then I found out I would have been hurt but understand, but exactly how many people…? I was shattered that you didn’t trust me enough to be part of that very personal part of your life. You were going to make me a stepmother without letting me know. I didn’t have enough going on with the implant still not working at that point?_

When I tried to say any of that the words refused to come out. When I try to tell him I’m ok with his relationship with Samantha, that I want him to be happy, to make whatever family he can to bring him those bonds he craves, the words fail exactly the same.

So I end up getting it’s-ok-I’m-fine-with-that-but-secretly-I’m-hurt-that-you’re-rejecting-us looks…or that’s what I interpret them as, when I tell him I’ll be out of his way, spending the week in the Arrow Cave. I may be fine with his relationships but there’s a different between being fine and being awkwardly in the middle of things.

It is a productive week. Not only do I keep up my exercises when everyone else is out, but I also upgrade the system piece by piece. I avoid awkward conversations by asking for wishlist items and trying to work them in with my moderate budget. All the odd angles and sleepless nights leave me one tension filled bundle of nerves. Either I do a great job acting fine or people are too polite to mention it, I notice my hands shaking, my jaw aching from clenching so tight, and muscle spasms more when I’m alone after my neutral mask can be discarded. But every unexplained noise draws an internal flinch and a demand to watch every shadow for movement.

…

Thea drives me back when Oliver calls to say they’re just getting something to eat before William heads back to his full-time home. She takes him up on his offer to order dinner to-go for us before heading back, and even though I don’t want to eat, just sleep, I manage to agree to whatever it is he lists first.

“Seems like you’re doing better down there, with the team and everything. You’re not biting our heads off or freaking out every time we ask a question.”

 _I hate it down there._ “…Yeah. It’s getting easier.” The white lie eases smoothly off my tongue.

…

I have a single minded purpose. Make it to the bed, just make it to the bed before passing out. It’s just one more elevator ride and a couple hundred feet to go. My eyes are almost crossing with the focus it takes to keep rolling. I don’t argue with Thea on letting her bring up my suitcase, and I don’t protest when she steers me through the lobby after I almost bump into someone with their pet and then avoiding them bump my fingers against a guard.

Thea leaves me just in the entry while turning off the alarm and I just keep going to the closed door of the room. My mind notes that nothing looks touched, including the half made pillow lined bed, so if she stayed this wasn’t where she _slept_. It is merely a few feet away but that might as well be miles.

Shove, grip, shove, grip, one last roll and pushing myself up to crash on the bed. Thea calls out something, but I’m asleep with my next breath.

 

}]}———}>

I shake my arms, wriggling back and forth, unable to get free from the hook. A wrong laughter sounds from multiple corners.

It speaks with a hiss, sounding like multiple voices at once, male, female, familiar, strange, the words fade in and out so only every couple words makes sense. “Ugly, rotten, ….useless…but…don’t…die before …you can.”

A blade slowly presses in, wriggling between ribs, stealing my breath as it curves the inch or two of it’s length, then slides back out with a slight twist.

I try to stay noiseless only shallow ragged breaths passing my lips, but can’t stop the thrashing need to get away from the pain.

Multiple points drag cuts up and down my spine.

“You used us”

I shake my head. _I didn’t, I didn’t! I don’t know what you are!_ My arms jerk and twist as I’m spun. I gasp for breath, silent sobs shaking me. Whatever _that_ is it is like some sort of Frankenstein’s Monster I recognize parts…people. People I hate, people I love, dead, alive, I can’t…I can’t understand it, I don’t want to understand it I just want to get away.

It holds up a hand, not knives, curved triple sided arrows capping each fingertip. Curved, serrated, nonsensical. _They’d never fly true…attached to fingers they would never fly…they aren’t real. This isn’t real. This is a-_

The thing slashes across my face, tearing open my cheek, my eye going sightless, my nose and mouth filling with blood.

I want to scream but only do so in my thoughts. _It’s not real! Doesn’t matter how it feels this isn’t-_

A wooden tapping starts echoing through the room. Those fingers pinch together and punch into my stomach, spearing, then spreading wide, grabbing a handful starting to pull.

}]}———}>

 _NO!_ I’m shaking, covering my mouth to keep from screaming. Frantically feeling, blinking to see…out of both eyes. Not real. _Not real. Didn’t happen. That doesn’t exist. That didn’t happen._

Another set of light rapping dances across the closed door, followed by a quiet, “Felicity? Are you awake.”

 _What time is it?_ “Th-Thea?” A quick cough to loosen the tightness in my throat, “No. Nothing…Yes!  
_Just a nightmare._ _Please let me never have it again._

“Oliver’s back…He brought dinner.”

I can’t. I just can’t. But I have to. A false levity autopilots, “Great, I’ll be right out.” I wash my face. Do fast makeup to mask the results of limited sleep like this, plaster on a smile and start the act.  _Fake it ‘till you make it._


	22. Twitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Splitting this one into two so I can get this first part posted and quit messing around with it. Unbeta'd.

Each electrode sticks on the exact spot corresponding to the grid that Curtis laid out before I settle into the harness. It thankfully looks less ridiculous than it sounds. Even so, the self consciousness is riding high, and I make him turn around while I do both, even as he gives directions so he can’t see me attaching and maneuvering into this thing. “So, even though it’s just a rough prototype I’ve programmed a couple routines in, but we can also switch over to mimic mode.” He excitedly tells me.

“Mimic mode?”

He makes a weird hand flailing that means absolutely nothing to me, “Remember what you mentioned about Oliver and the A.T.O.M. suit?” He holds up a set of bands and starts strapping them to his legs. “I think we should warm you up with mimic, then go to one of the test stretches.”

Wariness outweighs excitement, “You do remember that not all of us are former Olympians, right?”

He just smiles his super excited grin and powers his on before tapping a few things on the control pad. A crystalline chime rings out, “Good, they should be synched. Ready?”

_No?_ “…As I’ll ever be.”

Curtis slides his toes forward and half a second later my leg jerks in a vaguely similar motion. We both laugh excitedly. Taking it slow, he raises his foot an inch off the ground and the harness shifts, taking most but not all of the weight as my foot follows the motion.

_Don’t get your hopes up. If the connections don’t take it’ll all be for naught._ My raised foot nudges forward, then retreats, forward again, then twists… “Are you doing the Hokey Pokey?!”

“Don’t hate, it’s a kids classic for a reason. They’re even more awkward than you.” Before I have a chance to protest the harness shifts and I’m pivoting, “Now turn yourself around, that’s what it’s all about!”

I don’t stop him from playing around for a couple minutes, just enjoying the long stretch of my back muscles as I am marionetted around before we move on to the easiest program. Tai Chi style positioning and movements are fantastic, he prattles like I used to, about lean muscle buildup, especially if ankle weights are added.

Before she left, right after the surgery I gave my mom a couple weeks babying me. It took every one of those days before I finally convinced her that no, I wasn’t sick…I had just injured my back worse and that’s why I looked ‘this bad.’ A white lie that Oliver reluctantly was forced to go along with or at least make agreeing sounds. Really, it was do that or else come under the wrath of _Angry Mom_ the likes of which he has never even imagined.

In my defense, he did it to himself, not letting her know they couldn’t find me, roundabout getting information from her in that initial searching, not letting her know as soon as the Barry-Cisco-Curtis chain of telephone happened when I was a surprise speed bump in their rescue. We both knew she would never blame me when I’m still looking like…this. Totally his own fault.

After the physical therapist stopped coming Mom’s attitude changed and between her pleas and demands, she somehow gave Curtis this idea and now I get to be the guinea pig in any number of his fledgling mobility inventions.

I savor the dance of the movements, Even if I can’t feel the exercises and electricity working the muscles. All is wonderful until about ten minutes in, when my lower back starts to cramp, followed by my stomach, but I don’t complain. _The more I do, the faster the progress, right? I’ve been working everything I can with my exercises, this can’t be that hard on my endurance._ It takes another five minutes before the spasms start, throwing off the set routine and I have to lift myself with the ropes that attach the harness to the ceiling beam. “Curtis! Curtis make it stop!” I gasp, arms straining until the uncontrolled motions end with his smack of the kill switch.

“I don’t know what happened? I can look at the code but there shouldn’t have been-“

“No.” No point in wasting his time searching for an error that isn’t going to be there, “My muscles…aren’t used to that level of work. I didn’t say anything when I started getting sore.”

He looks shocked, “Sabotage?!”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

…

A triple chimed beep echos around the room as the door opens. _Oh come on!_ Oliver must’ve got my text and immediately left to arrive this fast. It’s a good thing I waited to send it until after forcing Curtis to go home when the worst of the spasms stopped making my body act of its own accord.

He gives a serious frown when his footsteps sound through the entryway and we enter each other’s view. Oliver’s eyes widen a fraction then narrow, more than imagine – I can see how I look in the reflection off the screen. I’m curled across the padded side of the coffee table, my hips hanging off the edge, side of my face pressed against it so I can see the small tablet propped up a handspan from my nose. This position, the best I’ve found for not wimping out and crying like I’ve been wanting to does not exactly match the innocuous text, a simple ‘ _Where did you hide the rice sock, or is there rice to make a new one?’_

I am on the receiving end of an utterly disapproving and concerned look at my, faux smile and, “You’re home early,” while I try to force myself to inch into a less prone position. Everything seizes up at the twisting motion. My eyes practically roll to the back of my head as my muscles protest their own damn actions.

“What exactly did you two do?” The harness was decoupled but still is loosely strapped around my hips, and while the power supply rests on the floor the electrodes are still in place under the stretchy pants so I’m looking like some sci-fi fashion experiment.

“Nnnn-“My groan slowly becomes something vaguely English, “oth-…ing…”

He just sheds the suit jacket, rolls up his sleeves and starts warming his hands. A tight grip takes my shoulder, another goes on my side, then a twin gentle push to stretch and coax me out of the contracted pose. I let out a harsh groan with the wavering edge of an involuntary sob, and he waits one more second, enough time for me to say stop, before doing it again. Again we both pretend I don’t make a sound.

His hand settles over a muscle that is twitching hard enough that I can feel each heartbeat through it. “You took an anti-inflammatory already?”

I make an affirmative, exasperated noise.

“Then let’s get started.”

It hurts, but as he works over them until slowly the muscle cramps near my neck start to turn to just aches. Good…good…My hands fist tight and I press my shoulders down to get away from the stabbing pain with a sharp inhale through my nose.

“What?”

I shake my head.

“Felicity, what happened?”

The noise chokes in my throat so it takes a few attempts to manage, “Please…don’t…touch…there.”

He shifts and I can feel his breath on my skin as he inches the shirt up to expose the pained spot in the middle of my back, “No bruising, but it is swollen.”

_Thank you Captain Obvious._ I nod.

“Let me get the packs and see if we can relax it.”

That sounds torturous. “Just…go easy.”

…

I feel practically boneless while he is redoing the work from my neck to waist like he has nothing better to do with his time. _Remember…a cue to stop…or he’ll keep going._ “Thank you…very much, it feels so much better.” _Maybe I can just sleep on this…if he’s staying in…Oliver could just watch TV from one of the chairs, so I’m not really in his way..._

“If I’m right about what you and Curtis were testing I should work over the muscles you can’t feel on your legs. Otherwise they’ll tighten your back later.”

Instinctively I start to roll away, finding the edge of the cushion with the movement, “I’ll just take a long shower,” _Note to self, peel the electrodes off before getting in the water, “_ that should take care of those…parts well enough.”

He sighs, his hand staying between my shoulders as I shift, “You don’t want me touching your legs, and sweetheart I understand that, but even if you can’t feel it right now working them too hard is going to hurt the rest of you.”

“If I promise to take it easy will you just drop it?”

He makes a frustrated noise.

I give the truth, “You go anywhere near my legs and it’ll undo everything you just did.”

“Can I at least lift you into your chair?”

A debate wars inside me in the span of seconds. It is a lot more contact than I’ve had from anyone since... it’s freaking out every instinct to seek solitude. “I can…you don’t…I…fine.” Reluctant but genuine, “Thanks.”

}]}———}>

Every day is another mark against the implant working, so I don’t ease up on intensity, just in duration over the next couple days as any dregs of optimism nosedives with the continual lack of progress. A moderate program until the muscles I can feel start to protest, taking a couple minutes to try to coax my legs to feel anything, and a break to try and eat or compile information for the team to use. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Oliver takes advantage of the fact that I asked for help. The next day he shows up around noon, asking if I’m ready rather than if I want him to try and massage my tension filled frame down to mere aches. It continues, just like before almost always finding some way to schedule them into his day, at lunch, or after work, or after _other_ work if it finishes early. Usually I let him as long as he says away from my legs and my incision scar since the skin just above it has grown painfully sensitive. They make it easier to recover from taxing myself and it makes him happy. Win-win. It is a dread-crave torture that I’m getting too dependent on.

Palms press down near the center of my back and the fingertips mere inches away splay out in a long drag to the edges of my hipbones. The realization that my muscle soreness has been replaced with another type of ache…one that tempts and demands attention. “I, uh, I think that's enough Oliver.”

“Is it hurting worse?” His hands don’t stop the kneading and push rhythm, thumbs pressing hard, just shy of too hard, up my spine.

My body is confused, obviously, because I know this familiar pattern is entirely platonic, he’s done it regularly, it’s nothing…nothing special.

“No, but that helped, thanks. It’s en-”

“Just let me work the area a bit longer, helps with circulation.” I don’t argue his interruption as he continues. Instead I focus on my breathing, managing to only let out the rare groan as he works knuckles to the sides of my spine.

 

“ Hey, you’re tensing up again, is something cramping?”

“Nope,” I exhale the word out. _This isn’t sexual. Stop it._ He builds me up oh so good and when I choke out an “Enough!” I am left unsatisfied

}]}———}>

He puts me down on the giant cushion that has become our regular spot.

“Let me get the muscle relaxer.”

“ _Oliver_ , I’m fine.” _Cocky stubborn punk. Just because I’m bent like this doesn’t mean I won’t be able to get in my wheelchair…eventually._

“ _Felicity_ , tell me where it’s hurting or I’ll just go over your whole back until your muscles ease up.”

The familiar minty eucalyptus funk scents the room. He uses the heels of his palms and his thumbs, gently working at the painful knots until I quit flinching at the touch, before moving to the next area. He massages over my back, easing a bit when I ask him to stop, but not going gentle on my strained muscles.

As usual, his touch doesn't go under my shirt, and he talks about work, random things to try and distract, as his broad palms and strong fingers carefully work around the scars low on my spine then dragging until he can work under my shoulder blades. I give in, relaxing into the furniture until that good ache radiates from the muscles. He finds the worst spots, the ones that I wake up aching with and focuses. He kneels over the back of my useless thighs, using the angle to push his weight into his hands. I fist the soft towel as he works one spot too hard for comfort, just how it needs to get better.

My traitorous mind keeps wanting to think about the times a couple years ago when he did this for me…before everything except that initial injury. It replays memories of the long hours he spent in soft appreciation with hands and mouth after flipping me over my front…and how I’d reciprocate. Or how gentle but passionate he’d be when I would demand he love me, his kisses, touches, and mix of delicious filthy and utterly beautiful words would get me there, either while he finished or shortly after. Our sex life was always active, with the injury he just got more determined to focus on me, and treated me with unnecessary extra softness.

 “You’ve got a really big knot right here…This might hurt a bit, but I’m going to try to work it out, ok?”

“Oliver, I don’t…” His fingertips barely brush the spot and I hiss.

“I’ll go slow, just tell me if it’s too much.” He presses his palm over the spot, working it.

I pull in a sharp, stuttered intake of air when it makes me gasp.

“Breathe through it. Breathe…See, getting better.”

“Enough Oliver.”

“But-“

“Enough!”

}]}———}>

Stupid weekends.

I work hard, all my frustration and the sight of him all sweaty and muscle – which my subconscious obviously appreciates while my active mind rejects, egging me to keep up his pace, to push until muscle failure. My grip slides and I crash down to the mat, air knocked out of me. He drops from the makeshift salmon ladder, crouching beside me, “You ok?” the words are full of concern while feeling at my neck, which I move to show I’m fine.

I nod, forcing in a painful breath, “Embarassed.”

He quickly checks me over, despite my protests that I’m fine, gentle hands pressing, checking for swelling or tender spots. “Ok, that’s enough for today. How many times do I have to tell you, you’re going to hurt yourself pushing that hard.” He keeps going, which doesn’t help with the tenseness in my muscles. I hiss as his hands slide over my ribs, he stills. “Hurts?”

“No, just tight.”

“Turn over.” I do, stiffly, and he grabs a rolled towel, handing to me to put under my head before he keeps going.

I bite back a pained whimper as he slowly works a spot high on my neck too hard. His response is immediate, likely just a reflex, but the gentle sorry and swipe of his thumb feeling exactly like a flick of a tongue from that spot, down my spine, before fizzling out at the implant scar has me gasp out a ragged noise. Somehow hanging back from the surprise, what my mind seductively insists will be an earthshattering, orgasm by the tiniest strand.

The “Sorry,” as he immediately moves to a crouch beside me is genuine, as is my curse, as is the “Do you need a doctor?”

All I can do is give a wordless noise, trying to remove my teeth from the hard bite into my lip so I can say something before he does call a doctor. Opening my eyes I see his concerned face, “No doctor…just don’t- You can’t- Need to-“ I gasp, realizing the tightness isn’t all in my upper half. The faint feeling of my toes curling isn’t imagined. Ignoring his questions I roll to my side, pulling on my leg. He reaches to help and I smack his hand away with a ‘ _back off_ ’ noise before I’m too busy pulling off the shoe and sock to look at the couple toes that are still tingling. I stare, trying to make them move, pressing a finger against hem but not feeling that pressure.

“Let me-“ is all he gets out before I snap.

Feeling the flush heating my skin at the mix of anger and arousal. “I’m having a hard enough time fighting off my first _happy ending_ in years. Stop Touching!” I keep pressing and moving, focusing on the toes, not the face in front of me. At the edge of my vision I still can see his brows furrow in confusion at my glare and tone, then as my words sink in his eyes widen, and he takes a breath to speak. “ _I need some fucking air!_ ” His mouth closes so fast that his teeth click.

Tapping around each toe, muttering to myself, “Come on, come on…” Nothing…the hint of feeling is getting fainter, like a memory, but it was there. “I know you moved just- just work!”


	23. Idling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, busy week and I distracted myself by posting up a couple short things instead of hunkering down with this. Couldn't quite force myself to get the next few pages in, but it is my intention to actually look at this at night this week and next to finish up this 'Part 1' set of chapters.
> 
> Unbeta'd, thank you very much for reading, have a great day!
> 
> (Also the 'Dummy' was originally 'Stupid' (which I think flows better) but with the self depreciation I didn't want anyone thinking she's actually hearing it from the outside, because she's not. I know it's stupid to even make a comment on it but I went back and forth for longer on that than I did adding bits that weren't already written in my 'in-progress' document for this chapter, so I feel the need to explain)

My mug is perched on the table, steam lazily dancing an irresistibly seductive siren’s call to me. My muscles ache as I wheel over to it, blowing over the rim and taking a test sip. Mmmm. I was up most of the night trying to force stubborn toes to obey my will. The battle was lost, but it doesn’t mean I won’t repeat it tonight.

“So, yesterday-” His voice is far too bright and cheerful for this early. Usually he’s on a run or off early to the office, and I get my caffeine fix in peace. _Stupid Mondays!_

“No talking before coffee.”

He rolls his eyes like _I’m_ the crazy one, sliding a plate in front of me. I eye the eggs warily. “You need the protein.” Slices of fruit, toast, then a small bowl of yogurt are not so stealthily added.

“Stop, enough! How much of this do I have to eat for you to not frown at me all morning?” _Or at least until he has to get to work._

He gives a bright smile. _You haven’t won a business deal, answer the question._ “As much as you want.”

_Acting like a freaking Jewish-Italian mom with his food pushing!_ “Where’s your plate?”

He slides one across the table and settles in, taking a bite of kiwi.

We eat in silence. Around the paper I see him keep making subtle glances at my progress, but my stomach can only handle so much in the morning. Fruit and half the eggs are that limit, so I make the casual request for a coffee refill. As he makes his way to the kitchen I use my fork to drag his nearly empty plate across the table, pushing my own to replace it. “Hey!” his voice is sharp, otherwise silently returning with my coffee.

_Busted_. Nonchalantly I nudge it with the tines of my fork the last inch, not breaking eye contact and taking the mug, _I dare you to call me out._ “Thank you.”

He looks at my former plate, undoubtedly taking stock, then turns up that smile of his again, “If you wanted more all you had to do was ask.”

Before he can push any back onto the plate in front of me I mirror his grin, “I’m stuffed, but you should really finish that. _You need the protein_.” Felicity – 2, Oliver – 1. I reward myself with a big sip of coffee.

The under-his-breath mutter of defeat only makes the coffee taste that much better. “So, yesterday you said it had been years since your last happy ending-” He says it so blandly that I’m nodding along before the words click in my brain.

The mouthful of coffee paints the table. _Oh my great Google-! I mean great googly moogly-! No, I mean- What?!_

“Would you like me to order you something to help, with _that_?”

_What did I say?_ I try to remember what I let my mouth get away with in that rather urgently stressful moment. _No…oh no, no, no. I didn’t- Wait…did he say order?_ “Are you offering to get me a gigolo?”

He looks as surprised as I am, “That’s not what I…Do…Do you want me to hire-?“

I feel heat creeping up to my scalp, looking anywhere but him while interrupting, “Don’t! No! Don’t finish that! I mean, what-? Wait, that’s… none of your business.” My brain is spinning but no thoughts manage to catch. “Never mind, stop talking.” I shove, wheeling myself backwards so fast that I bump into a wall before frantically trying to navigate to the solitude of the room I’m staying in and pretend the last minute didn’t exist in the timeline.

“Felicity!”

“ _Nope._ Wow it’s _late_ , don’t you have to be at work? Better get moving, grooving, going.” I push the door shut behind me, listening for sounds from the main area.

}]}———}>

Hours later my toes are still refusing to cooperate no matter how much I try to coax, beg, manually push, and use electric pulses to force them into twitching again. So when the chime rings I’m not in the best of moods.

I evaluate the screen, asking the building security to leave the blandly logoed box addressed to me out there. When the guy is gone I retrieve it, pulling along the packaging tape as soon as the door is shut behind me. _Maybe the new laptop parts that were on backorder…? No. definitely not parts._

I shove the small bottle and other item, in packaging splayed with bright stickers proclaiming ‘For Novelty Use Only,’ back into the box. My thumbs move faster than my thoughts, barraging Oliver’s phone with a set of messages as fast as I can type.

FS: Are you out of your mind?  
FS: You can’t buy things like that!

_Well obviously he can and did…_

FS: You can buy them. But not for me!

_Oh wait, maybe they weren’t for me._ A glance at the label again, that’s my name.

FS: Ignore those x3  
FS: Oliver, your package arrived. You clicked the wrong recipient when ordering, it will be on the counter.

I’m trying to reseal the tape, having penned over the name already, when my phone chimes.

OQ:  No mistake. I know inapprop but you wouldn’t buy it for yourself  
OQ: Same as what you used to like

_Why would he remember that, it was almost three years and a lifetime ago…I would have bought my own sex toys, I have bought my own sex toys, just not…just not when I’m like this._ I still have trouble looking for more than a glance at anything but specific features in the mirror, the overall ‘me’ still looking sickly and weak, reminding me of the numbness, the boredom, the reason I was _there_ , why I deserved to be _in that_ cell. My shoulders hunch forwards, no one is here to see my self-loathing, but that doesn’t make it any gentler.

OQ: I’ll be out until 6 LMN if you need anything

The box stays on the counter, dangerous as a viper, so I throw myself back into PT exercises while streaming mindless videos.

}]}———}>

My shoulders hit the floor and I pant, catching my breath. The prickling itch of sweat demands I wipe it from my brow but the rest of my body insists that laying without moving here is the better option.

The knock comes again and my muscles tense painfully stiff in response. “Who is it?”

“Thea!”

"Go away." The thought of her energy is no friend to my exhaustion.

"Open the door, I'm taking you to lunch."

In that case, "Your brother already stuffed me before he left..."

There is a wordless noise, and based on experience I can just imagine her nose wrinkling, "No details please. I don’t need to hear-"

_You Queens! Always taking innocently intended words the worst way._ "Stuffed me with foo-“ _Wait! Say it differently_ , “Made me eat a huge breakfast…of food! I’m not hungry. Go away I’m busy."

The door-muffled voice takes on a whine, "You stay cooped up in here all the time'"

_So what if I do?_ “I do not!”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire...” The knob rattles slightly. “Shouting through the door isn’t working, I’m using my key”

“Key?” _Of course she has a key. Ugh._ I start to roll my sweaty gross self over to get to the couch, as I hear the door open.

"I was thinking Thai- You ok?” She starts almost jogging towards me.

I give her a wary look, “Yeah, why?

Her tone is like I’m deliberately ignoring something obvious, “Because you’re laying on the floor?”

"As opposed to levitating...?" I start lifting myself up, waving away the hands she offers as help, "Your brother let you try to do that when he was getting better?

She nods, eyes darting towards the balcony. “Mmmhmm.”

“And you call me a liar?” Scooting over and transferring to my chair, I push the wheels to coast over and get some water. A long drink later, I ask, "Why don’t you invite him out instead, he'd love to see you."

A fed up sigh “That’s not fair. He’s not you…” The silence stretches and we have a standoff of stares. “Fine, I’ll pick up stuff and we can eat on the balcony. You shower, I’ll be back soon.”

_How did she win like that?_ I shower in cool water, muscles protesting when a soft tapping fills the room. Panic edges through me, but a glance at the window reveals the steady fall of rain continuing to spatter against the glass.

By the time I’m dry and dressed it is full on storming. At least that means the balcony is off limits.

Soon Thea flings open the door without knocking, laden with big bags of food. “It wasn’t supposed to rain today!”

I give her a wary eye. She is far too like her brother and I know a game of musical plates won’t work like this morning. "Planning on feeding an army?"

"Couldn’t decide what I wanted and took your advice."

_I told you to go away, not feast_. "What advice?"

"I invited Ollie."

Darting a covert glance between the package and the containers she’s pulling out, my words are slightly exasperated, "Then why didn't you just take him to lunch?"

"Because I miss you, Dummy.”

}]}———}>

Oliver strides in, umbrella in hand like a magazine model, not a hair out of place or a drop of water on his clothes. A quick hug and kiss near Thea’s ear, I’m sure whispering something out of my lip-reading sight. Surveying the spread of options his smile gets wider, “This looks great, thanks for the call.”

“Well Felicity said you’d want to see me, like we didn’t have dinner the other night, and it justified ordering the extra mango sticky rice and nuea ping.”

He looks over at me and I quickly correct her, “I said she should take you out, because I wasn’t interested and she was being all…” I wave my hand in her direction, “Thea-y.” My eyes give a pointed stare towards the package, still on the counter, followed with an unappreciative look at him.

Oliver just grabs a plate and starts filling it, “Thanks for inviting me anyway.”

}]}———}>

He gets a call partially through his fast eating, the leisurely pace of breakfast nowhere in sight. Checking who it’s from he sighs and grabs one more big mouthful before answering while walking towards the kitchen with his empty water glass. The frustrated, “Today?” carries back to us. A vaguely agreeing noise follows, “I’ll be there in 20.”

Thea starts packing one of the containers that held the food with as much of the types as will cram under the lid…surprisingly large amounts. _Those two really do think on the same wavelength sometimes_. A couple seconds later he is apologizing, snagging the container, thanking her with a hug and a goodbye, thanking me with a smile, then after grabbing his umbrella he’s off.

Thea sticks around, pushing food and failing to trick me into going out to a movie.

“Go spend your day off doing more than bothering me.” She won’t. Thea does join in on part of my routine when I start back up after the food is packed away, but she’s not really dressed for it. I get a huff of frustration mid-conversation, as I start on another set of reps and a short while later she leaves me in peace.

}]}———}>

When Oliver gets back from work he practically runs in, by the sound of it, to change before stopping by my room on his way out.

A knock which is odd because he usually just speaks through the door, and when I open it he extends a thick folder. “I’ll need you to sign these by Friday.”

Taking and opening the folder, I’m confused. “What are they?”

“Just tax things, one of the accountants made a mistake and if these aren’t resubmitted with original signatures by the extended deadline on Friday they’re pretty sure we’ll be on the short list for an audit. Which is not…when my parents were audited it was a big hassle, and I’d like to avoid it if possible.”

I bite back a laugh at his frustration with bureaucracy, "Of course you do." An amended return for four years ago…documentation from insurance and the hospital after I was shot skim past my fingers as I, flip the pages backwards seeing just how many pages there are. Getting to the last handful in the stack, I look from the front page, to the dates on it, then back at the checkbox. _That’s not right._

"I can leave them now so you can read over them but again, Friday.”

“They made a mistake…”

“Where? They should be able to fix it first thing tomorrow, but you can read over the rest and then sign the updated one.”

I pull out the paperwork for last year’s taxes and hand them over. “This, this is wrong. They made the amendments for the prior year, but then they didn’t change it back after you filed the divorce.”

“Oh…yeah, that’s not wrong.”

The first minutes back at STAR Labs jump to mind. _‘I need to talk to my wife. Alone.’_ Oliver’s demand to Barry from what feels like forever ago rings in my head like a taunting echo. _No. No, that’s not…_ “Yes it is. Oliver it says we’re still married, if you want to avoid an audit that’s a pretty big flag-”

He slides the papers back into the folder, “We’re still married” I just stare at him, surely having missed a word. “What was it you said, ‘Surprise’ and ‘Mazel Tov,’ right?”

My head circles on a loop of confusion, "But- but- but it’s not valid anymore."

Oliver doesn’t reach out, doesn’t touch, if anything he inches backwards to give me extra space as I push myself back a spin. "Felicity, you know me, did you really think I'd blindly agree to walk away from-, bad choice of words, sorry. You think I’d just leave this marriage without even giving it a fighting chance."

_But…but…but…_ "But we aren’t...the divorce..."

“Was never filed."

_But I’m…But he’s…_ “You’re- you’re my- we’re-?”

A hidden smile shows in his eyes, at the corner of his mouth, and the lightness in his tone, "Yes, Wife."

"Stop that." He’s making fun of me. He’s not serious. “It’s not a joke! I can get the papers reprinted from the attorney and you-”

The smile disappears into his normal serious expression, “Felicity, you may have intended for this to be my second sham of a marriage, but we’ve consummated it twice since the date the license was signed by both of us, we made medical decisions for each other, we’re living together... Granted, we are going through some tough times, so our marriage-“

“Quit calling it that!”

He ignores the comment and keeps going, “-is strained, but we’re working on it.”

I shake my head, still not able to understand why he didn’t file the papers even after I got back.

He zips up his jacket and starts moving towards the front door, “We can even go to Bali for our honeymoon if you still want when you’re up for it, but for now I have to get moving. So please, read over, I need them by Friday.”


	24. Idling - Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, I'll respond tonight but I very much appreciate them.  
> This is what I couldn't force myself to finish up before posting yesterday, but it would have been tacked on to the last chapter, hence the oh-so-creative chapter title.  
> Unbeta'd, thank you for reading, have a great day!

The next morning is awkward. Or more accurately, it’s awkward for me. The folder rests in the center of the table, over Oliver’s briefcase. _So obviously he’s seen the signatures…because he’s right they needed to be signed and unlike a couple months of retroactive marriage, a couple years of retroactive divorce would be tricky, especially since these tax returns were filed, State and Federal._ _Sigh_.

Oliver sits eating, reading, nonchalantly having done _another_ big breakfast, a serving bowl over a plate to keep it warm. “Oh don’t you act like there is _nothing_ to talk about, Mr. Queen.”

He doesn’t look up, “You started this, I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

I glower, refusing to accept that as an excuse, but waiting until I’ve had a drink of coffee before responding, “Because I gave you your ‘out’ at the same time I told you! The marriage shouldn’t still be valid.”

A deliberate sip of water, and falsely innocent query, “Why not?”

“Because you- Because we weren’t really married! Because if you had just signed the papers and handed them off you would have been free of me.”

Oliver interrupts before I can argue my point, all the thoughts that debated in my head last night are conspicuously absent now that I’m trying to use them. “Felicity, why would you think I would want that?”

“You said it yourself, it was a sham. It was bait, and I exploited it to get you what you wouldn’t have accepted otherwise but needed and we both know it!” My palms swat at the table, making the glasses tremble.

He looks strait at me, absolutely serious, “I told you I wanted to marry you, and I think you’re starting to understand this is real for me.”

_Is this why he’s letting me stay here? Some stupid sense of duty? Trapped into it by an overinflated sense of honor and code of what’s ‘right’ for him?_ “What about your _family_?”

A hand extends towards me, but stays out of my carefully spread bubble of personal space, marked clearly by glass and cutlery, “You’re part of my family.”

I clench then pull my hands into my lap to avoid the instinctive urge to touch. It’s awkward, so I run them to touch the water, the rim of the plate, the tines of the fork, anything to change up the sensations. “No, the family you’re making for William.”

He catches himself mid eye-roll, and repeats himself, slowly, “You. Are. Part. Of. My. Family.”

I glide backwards, then towards the table again, the closest I can do to pacing. _Do I have to spell it out?_ “You and Samantha!” He just waits, raising his eyebrow instead of questioning my words. I lift my hands, extending my fingers out, palms up, in his direction, with a ‘come on’ gesture. Gritting my teeth I force out the awkwardness…the increased awkwardness, “I have done my best not to be a distraction from your…” _Reunions, hookups, courtship – oh my god who even thinks the word courtship?_ “Your _family_ visits.”

He nods, apparently not understanding the air quotes around the word, “She drops off William, then goes and enjoys her weekend, or week, or…” He trails off, tilts his head “’ _Family visits?’_ Is that supposed to be…? You think I’m-, we’re-...Is _that_ why you refuse to be here when William visits?”

This is right up there with the sex toy in topics I didn’t want to have with him face to face, heat creeps across my cheeks and I avoid the fingers that try to bump mine, “I don’t want to listen to you _catching up_.”

“I’m sure _your_ stepson wouldn’t either, but she doesn’t stay, and her time here isn’t…” he searches for the word and manages to find a pair that are more my level of brain mashing – specific but weird, “conjugally intimate.” It was a trap, because as soon as our gazes meet he continues, “You’re my wife, I’m not about to knowingly commit adultery.” His eyes are practically electric with anger, “Thanks for that by the way. Great part of your _out_ that made me out to be the boy I was before the island rather than the man I am today.”

The jab lands and my retort is as defensive as it is loud, shouting across the table, “I marked adultery on _my_ end, not _yours_! It wasn’t even _real_ -real at the point you were with Susan! I wanted you alive! Alive and free, and I gave you a way to be both!”

His voice loses it calm, “Well you got that half right!”

A silence hangs, both of us obviously pissed with how this conversation is going down.

_Think. Logistics._ “Who else knows about our- about _the_ marriage?”

Another couple seconds of quiet, then Oliver is the epitome of calm again, “Quentin, but that was your move. My accountant, our medical team.” He thinks while ticking off fingers for those just named, “Barry now, I guess.”

“Thea?”

“No.”

“My Mom?”

“Not unless you told her, and _you_ will be the one to share that with Donna.”

“John?”

“Everyone you’re going to name that isn’t on that list is a no…” he deadpans the thought, then stands to pace between the table and the kitchen, “Speaking of names, I left it how you had it in the paperwork, did you want to keep your maiden name, hyphenate – I would prefer Smoak-Queen over Queen-Smoak if we both change, or were you interested in the idea of picking something entirely new?”

“How are you so-? You were- when they first brought me back…and before, when you were going in for surgery you were…” _shocked, pissed,_ ”you didn’t want to let it happen, you were going to fight me on it.”

“Your delivery of the information could have used some better timing, better discussion beyond ‘We’re married. I’m forcing you into surgery and sweet talking the nurses so they won’t say anything, here are the divorce papers, good bye.’ Yes, I was…surprised, and angry, and that helped fuel my recovery, but Felicity I love you. I never stopped.”

_You’re wrong,_ “You can’t. I…” How can he not understand? “Look at-!“ I fight the urge to block his ability to do what I ask, “Just look at me.”

He does, slowly. “What am I supposed to be seeing that makes it impossible for me to feel the way I do?”

Squeezing over the slowly rebuilding muscle I cringe and stare away. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You don’t have to spare my feelings, don’t have to lie about it. I’m damaged. Broken, ugly-“

A harsh laugh cuts me off, “Do my scars disgust you?” He starts pulling off his shirt, putting it and the undershirt beside his suit jacket, revealing the patchwork of healed wounds.

At least one large one looks very fresh, and I try to keep my mind on what he just said and not trying to remember what I eavesdropped on the comms and in their records to try and place its source. “What?”

The words are soft, a genuine query, accusatory in the mimicked words, “What do you see when you look at me? Someone damaged, broken, and ugly?”

“Of course not”

“-course not.” He says with me. Oliver crosses his arms over his chest, “Did you leave because I was a paraplegic?” Before I can get out my confused question he continues, “You’re using that as a ridiculous excuse for me. It makes no more sense the other way around. Why would you expect me to think differently about someone like one of us than you do?”

 “Because I’m-” _different, not the woman you fell in love with, a killer, virtually an agoraphobic, sickly looking, depressive…Stop, change approach,_ “ You’re…you. Oliver, you’re a bil-former billionaire, the Mayor, insanely kind, protective, gorgeous, and a hero. Even if they don’t know just how important you are to this city I’m sure any number of people you date would-“

He leans over, and I pull back, “I’m married, I don’t date anyone but my wife.”

That argument again, like he ignores his options, “You don’t have to! You can get out of it. Find someone-“

“This is me telling you I don’t want to. Our differences are reconcilable. I contest your arguments. I won’t push you with what you’re not comfortable with, but I want to fix our marriage.”

We stare at each other. I know what he wants me to say, just like I know I can’t say it. _‘I want to fix this marriage too’_ and, _‘I love you’_ and any number of ways I could agree or apologize. I’m not even sure I’m capable of love like that anymore.

Oliver’s phone chimes a reminder tone, and we both glance at the clock. He’s going to get caught in traffic if he’s not out the door in the next couple minutes. “I could stay…?”

I can’t force myself to agree to that, “No. You’re the Mayor, that’s important.” _This is important._ I point at the folder of papers. “You have to drop those off. Go.”


	25. Back and Forth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some short bits I'm keeping together and calling a chapter, a second chapter will be posted in just a minute.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Thank you as always.

The words scrawled and scratched out in graphite taunt me from the notepad. Typing would be easier, definitely faster but this makes me slow down and consider each word because of the speed, not despite it.

I’m trying to focus on the reasons why rather than the negatives. I could spend all day writing out why not to do this, then spend all night dealing with _Mr. Queen’s_ counter arguments. One by one they are debated as each letter mars another millimeter of white, and I delay another second squaring off the last letter, making it a solid block of color before drawing lines through the whole sentence I just wrote.

Under ‘Consider Relationship?’ the arguments I haven’t rejected consist entirely of ‘We understand how each other thinks’ ‘Because we’re _really, really, really ridiculously good looking_ together’ and “We could take turns PTSD-ing nightmares, no questions just reassurance.’ It worked well in Ivy Town but my demons were few and far between, now…

I flip over to a clean page and hastily manage to write down, ‘Do you want to try starting over?’ before tearing it out, snarling at myself, “Don’t act like you’re in middle school!”

Dark lines scratch through the question. “Just ask him on a date…a stay in date…a stay-in-and eat-and-watch-something-like-normal-just-with-the-label-attached date. Yes.” I convince myself of a plan, build myself up, am dedicated to it…Instinctive panic rising up when the door handle shifts with a rattle of a key in the lock send every thought scattering.

The door rattles again, no frosted glass to look through, to see, to- My eyes go wide, the pencil starts to crack in my grip. It’s Oliver, nothing sinister, as usual, the normal smile of being home in place, faltering for a heartbeat and changing to a surprised look when he sees me.

The surprised look is quickly masked, and he greets me with his now standard, “You ok?” Just like normal. Or not like normal because I’m usually disgusting after a long day of trying to trick my body into functioning correctly whereas today I haven’t so much as thought about lifting a weight.

I nod, shoving the pad of paper between my leg and the wheelchair, the silence dragging too long. “I- I uh- um…How was work?” _Lose your nerve and pretend like yesterday and this morning didn’t happen? I thought you weren’t playing middle school. Shut up head and go with what works._

He puts down his things, “Work was fine. Did something happen?” His attention flits over the apartment, looking for signs that something is off the norm.

“No, no, just felt like...like…” the familiar cheery voices carry from the tv, “Like watching game shows.” I glance over as someone asks for an M, to join the R and A’s on the board before spinning again, “Uh…w-w-“ _Say it now or shut up!_ “Want to watch…with…want to watch it with me?”

“I’d…I…” He eyes me, like it’s a trap, cautiously answering, “Yes?”

…

He’s on one end of the couch, I am on the other, remotes and a pillow in the space between us. Neither broaches our past couple conversations, neither of us says much of anything while the show seems to drag twenty minutes into an eternity. I notice every move and sound he makes. The small motion, scratching his jaw, then dropping his hand down beside him. That hand that almost three years ago I would have had no problems casually lacing my fingers with, but now…now even the thought seems like too intimate an action. Too much promise in it of things I don’t think I can handle. Even those stupid massages if I haven’t worked so hard I’m hurting are too much, and now even that is tainted because I couldn’t help but almost get off from innocent touches that were just trying to help, and just thinking about it twists my insides the not fun version of uncomfortably.

He shifts and I jerk further away even though his motion wasn’t towards me.

My thoughts scathe and tirade against myself in the duration of a heartbeat. _It’s ridiculous. Stupid. Oliver was your…he was a lot of things… He’s seen and touched and more…An accidental touch wouldn’t kill you!_

He apologizes, movements very deliberate as he stands, making some excuse to go to the kitchen, which makes me feel even more stupid and guilty.

_He wasn’t trying anything! You know this. Don’t let him apologize for your stupid, stupid, issues!_ Oliver’s already off the couch when the attempted explanation, apology, _whatever_ haltingly tumbles out, “I-…It’s not y-“ My arms wrap around myself and I don’t let myself turn to look at him, searching for _anything_ that would make sense to anyone normal, “I’m not…I can’t…I don’t…” a frustrated noise is my sign of defeat as I give up.

The apartment is silent other than the tv for a long moment which somehow makes things feel worse. “Felicity, just take a breath, and tell me what you want to say.”

I pick at the fabric under my palms. It takes a couple starts, sounding like a broken record on the letter ‘i’ before I force out, “I can’t be your wife-” the second that follows is nearly deafening in its silence.  “I can’t- I can’t – I can’t handle…” _The touching? The talking? The closeness?_ My skin heats and I feel queasy at the thought of all three. “I-i-it’s…It’s too much. Th-the massages are too much, the toy is too much. I can’t be normal. I can’t be your- I don’t- _I can’t_!” I don’t know what to expect from him, but there’s no way anyone would be happy about that.

“…It’s ok.”

“What?” I look back at him, but the kitchen is vacant.

His voice comes from the side, not close, but not where I expected, “I’ll take what you’re able to handle. I waited years to see you again, at least here I know you’re alive. Usually. Now I may not have said for better or for worse, but I’m in this for the long haul, we’ll see where that takes us, gradually. Deal?” His arm stretches, hand extending, hanging in midair. “Only what you’re able to handle.”

I look at his hand, his face, then back again. My hand inches up, not quite up to his in a jittery path. Oliver waits. _Better or worse. See where…_ I hesitate, not quite able to make myself take the contact. Our eyes meet, and I bite my lip, curling my fingers back into a fist with a nod. “We can try.”

He gives a small smile and returns the nod, pulling his hand back. “So, you hungry?”

}]}———}>

Instead of just existing in a shared space, I make a true effort to be involved, to focus beyond myself and actually pay attention.  It is harder than I think, minute to minute, but those attempts add up. The desire to hide away is still demanding but even if it’s just leaving my door open, sometimes so I can’t pretend my way out of a conversation…Progress is progress, I’ll take what I can get.

Still no improvement for days after toe feeling, unlike the first time around where it was like an avalanche – _any_ mobility into _all the mobility._ I try to stay positive, showing false cheer that is paper thin. Then one night my leg jerks of its own volition.  It is a storm, in the middle of the night, sending such a sudden crashing thunder that it tears me from sleep. I’m so terrified my body shudders for a good minute before I realize one leg is flung over the edge of the bed, my wheelchair having been kicked nearly out of reach. The spot next to my other leg is still warm, so it had to have just happened. It won’t respond now, but the unmoved one, it feels…feels slightly less numb. Or it’s my imagination. But the one leg moved, it did. _I didn’t imagine it_.

I don’t share the news. _I will just not yet, not until I do it again_. I promise myself.

One day, two, another. Still no repeats, or control, no matter how hard I work with the electricity and weights. Oliver doesn’t comment on my bad mood, but I’m not so naive as to think he doesn’t notice. I decline offers of help. I don’t stop him from watching, occasionally spotting when I’m trying to push a significantly larger amount of weight. That keeps me from breaking, the chair…equipment…myself, on at least one occasion.

_It was a fluke. Your stupid arms on the stupid sheets or something_. I don’t say anything. This time it is a constant battle of a consuming despair, a growing certainty that my body is never going to work again.


	26. It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, thank you for reading.

Something wakes me, not unusual, nor is the fact that I go from sleep to panic in the time it takes my eyelids to fly open. That instant is all it takes to realize something is wrong. The room is dark. _It’s never dark._   Not since that first night here. My eyes go to the curtained window. The faintest sliver of moonlight sneaks through a crack. No storm rages. No glow comes from the clock. No reason for the dark. My voice is barely a whispered hyperventilation, “Oliver?”

When there is only silence beyond my breath I struggle to push off the twisted sheets. Fumbling at the nightstand, phone slipping from my clammy hands more than once before I manage to press what I need. A sleep thickened “Hello?” answers before the second ring.

The thought is clear but the words stutter out as my jaw locks, “I-i-It-…He-h-hel-h-…c-c-ut- p-p-power!”

His voice is instantly alert, no hesitation in his reply, “Get in the closet, in the hidden space.”

Even as he says the words the laughing growl that haunts my nightmares rumbles into the room. The only thing panic allows is a high pitched whine of terror.

Neither male or female, Its voice is more animal than human, “Your screams were always the best…” Shadows allow only glimpses of the horrible fluidity to the thing’s movements, a predatory grace as long legs bring it towards the bed. Claw tipped fingers reach out flinging the wheelchair out of my reach as it grins.

Oliver crashes through the window, tackling the thing back to the center of the room. They roll and It kicks him off, flinging Oliver into the hallway. Instead of following, It stalks towards me.

My legs twitch, not much but enough to start. The survival instinct to run making progress where weeks, months, of hard work failed. The only problems are that there’s nowhere to go, and no way I can move fast enough. It grabs me by the back of my neck, opening its maw, readying to savage my exposed throat. My body says to scream, but my lungs can’t take in enough air to make the noise. It hits with its other hand, claws dragging down my hairline, lifting me by the throat.

Thick drool drips onto my chest as it laughs again. It squeezes and gray starts to fleck the edges of my vision, “When I was good, they’d let me claw at the door…they’d wait until I was almost through. That once I almost-“

Its body jerks. Teeth snapping closed, just barely breaking the skin. This time I do scream, knowing how many _real_ bites It can take before the one being consumed dies. Another jerk and it whirls around. I recognize two arrows protruding from Its back before it drags me along, holding me as a shield in front while advancing. Oliver backs up, a faint limp, arrow at the ready. Moonlight illuminates him and the main room, his voice is sharp as a weapon as it cuts through the air, “What do you want?”

It ignores the words, instead throwing me straight at Oliver like a spear. He has time to start stretching his arms, bow falling towards the floor. Impact. I can feel him trying to twist us down but my body still propels us backwards, ending with a slam into the barstools.

Both of us lay crumpled, breathless for heartbeats too long. Oliver shifts, somehow forcing himself into movement. My fist...a sharp shard of wood is underneath. I clench, straining to press it to his palm. He grips it and I drop my arm feeling for a second one without moving any aching thing else. Oliver’s eyes are pained, frantically trying to get up, fingers clenching around the makeshift weapon, gaze hesitating too long on me. It grabs his leg, yanking hard enough that we both move, then they’re on each other. My legs are sluggish and weak without the aid of electronics, ignoring most of what I want them to do, so I’m left to inch across the floor towards the phone that fell when I collided. They fight as the line rings, and rings, and ri-

“You have _any_ idea what time it is?”

“Help! A-AR-ARGUS- It!“

From feet away Oliver’s pained groan overlaps the heavy sounds of flesh pummeling flesh. A frantic panic remembers those same sounds from the time trapped in the bunker. _At least with Chase I- Stop! FOCUS!_

“Oliver’s-“

It lets out a vicious howl and the phone slips from my grip. I grab for it but my fingers brush across a familiar shape instead. I fist the arrow as they fall to the ground, each fighting for the higher position. Oliver holds It momentarily, pummeling, but a savage blow dazes him and he’s underneath in an instant. Trying to keep those knifelike fangs from his throat Oliver digs at Its eyes.

I strain crawling on my hands and shaking knees over to them. Forcing myself to kneel, and using both hands to grasp the shaft, I have one arrow, one try, so I have to make it count. _Just like before._ It snarls some threat into Oliver’s ear claws digging into his arms and I have my opening. Putting my body weight behind it I lurch, aiming for it’s ear and instead slamming the arrow into Its neck. There is a crack and gurgle, then boiling red jets up at me, rains down onto Oliver. The growls go silent as it thrashes. Oliver ignores the burning spray raining on us and hits where the arrow sunk in. The resulting mess is more than I can handle, sanity threatening to break, so as my knees give out I keep my eyes closed. I land against the pair, my nose filling with the scent of It and the blood covering us, feeling the exhausted repetition of blows shake the body as the fight bleeds into stillness. It doesn’t move on its own again.

A hand tugs at my arm from below, and I scream. The grip tugs once more, directing, before releasing as I stare down. _Oliver. It’s Oliver._ I manage to slide off to the floor, facedown beside Oliver. It takes him a few tries but he shoves the corpse off, away. We’re both breathing too hard to speak.

Too much blood paints us dark in the faint light to see any injuries. His hand, swollen and sticky, finds my fingers with a convulsive squeeze…another…one more…

_We’re alive. You’re alive. I’m alive._

“We need…to move.”

I shake my head.

“Saw you…Can you stand? There’ll be more…” Trying to gather myself, trying to sit up, I cry out as my back spasms with a flare of pain. He makes a similar noise, getting up, straining to pull me with him, “I know…Fuck I know,” my legs are weak, clumsy, not going to hold, “but we need to move…and I can’t…”

_He can’t carry me_. _He’ll kill himself trying but he knows he can’t._

Somehow we go. Unfamiliar aches, body complaining of overuse at the brief movements. I still have to lean on him, as my feet keep going out under me, as a result we almost fall after a hundred inches. A sticky, disgusting splaying of limbs, like drunken penguins we shuffle to the pantry. Oliver does the thing, the complicated thing that opens the hidden latch, and I slump into the tiny elevator he had installed beside the HVAC ducting. He flicks the switch to close it up and send us down after tumbling in behind me. We both cling to the slick metal walls and rail with a desperation, a silent understanding that once we’re on the ground it’s game over.


	27. Leaning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, had lots to write but couldn't quite finish this chapter.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Thank you for the comments, corrections, and for reading.

He had told me about this escape route,  _in case of emergencies_ , but I didn’t imagine it’d be quite so compact, so sparse. Especially with all the open space he’s managed to have both under Verdant and in the bunker.

There’s an electric motorcycle, plugged into the same generator that feeds the elevator, three helmets – two regular and one…child sized. I’m not sure how we get our helmets on, or load up on the bike, but the blur comes into focus as Oliver shifts me where I sit in front of him so he can see. We hoist my legs with shaking hands to position my, once again numb, sock-clad feet to where they won’t get damaged. He managed to get some thin pair of house slippers on, but other than that, a pair of cargo pants, and the blood he’s got no protection below his neck for the ride, at least I slept in a winter pajama set.

The motorcycle starts with a quiet hum, “Ready?” Pain and exhaustion make the word more of a barked rasp. I squeeze his fingers, shivering too hard to nod, before he positions my hands inside his, clinging to the handlebars. He makes small adjustments to our balanced weight, then we’re zooming off. The urgency is clear and unspoken, don't stay still, get to safety, get patched up, make sure there is nothing able to follow us.

Concrete lined tunnels like this were meant for pipes or tracks, absolutely not the relatively small wheels of a motorcycle, so the ride is jagged as we are propelled through each dark mile with only a small headlight giving enough warning when to avoid the big debris. We hit a bump and my vision flashes bright then dark as nerves jostle. I bite into my lip to stay quiet after a sharp gasp of pain. Useless tears form and shake free after sliding out from under the helmet as he speeds us through the partially ruined passages towards the safety of the Arrow Cave.

“Just a little further…a few miles..we’ll be safe…” I wouldn’t be able to hear him even with the headsets built into the helmets on his normal motorcycle but the quiet hum of this, and the otherwise silence lets me hear the mantra repeated behind me. Eventually, as the minutes pass, even that goes silent.

The sudden lurch of the bike and weight sagging down on me draws a curse and prayer to my scattered thoughts as I grab tighter to the handles. I never could have imagined this is how I’d be getting a crash course in motorcycle driving. "Ol-Ol-Oliver!?" Nothing, "OLIVER!"  _That's his chest, he's breathing, it's not your imagination_. He must have passed out...just passed out.

I keep trying, but concentrating on steering and not succumbing to that same temptation of unconsciousness takes most of my focus. So much so that I almost miss the green graffiti of circles forming a bull’s-eye until we almost pass it. A wobbly veering into that side path has me grabbing, pulling his arm tight and nearly laying flat so he doesn't fall. Another turn at the next green mark  brings us to a dead end. The ride is pressing the very limits of muscle endurance in places I didn’t think I was using to stay on. I press each button within my shaky reach as my fingertips inch around, trying to find the horn on this thing. When I press the right spot it blares a long noise through our choppy circles. Taking the dangerous second to shove off my helmet,  _slightly_  hysterically  _asking_  for someone to open the door, for help, for anyone to please be in there, because when you're so close to safety it can’t be called screaming… _It's a rule somewhere, I think_.

Thank all that is good in this world for the Diggles. They had returned to Star City not long ago after deciding retirement didn’t fit either of their temperaments. The decision taking them understandably longer than it had for us those years ago. It was an awkward, or to be accurate uncomfortable as hell, reunion. They weren’t outwardly bitter like I expected, weren’t accusatory…but my own sense of guilt more than made up for that. That self blame digs deepest when seeing the occasional slight catch in John’s gait, even if the pants and boots hide the work of art Curtis made. For such a solid man who moved with such ease and grace…it was a flashing sign that he is not whole as he was. The mental weight only built when my eyes followed the trail of the scar starting above Lyla’s eyebrow, somehow missed taking her eye, and marring a slash across her lips…again when experiencing how the formerly outgoing and happy JJ is now a wary young boy who hid behind his parents until they recognized that was happening and said it’s safe, seeing that wariness passed on to his little sister who was still getting used to this whole walking thing and stared at me with large eyes.

I apologized, and apologized again. They were gracious, saying it was no one’s fault but Adrian and Talia’s. But I knew my part, I know what cracks I opened, what threads I started untangling, and I know I will work the rest of my life to try and make things up to them. Even with the bittersweet it is obvious they were needed here. Oliver especially…with all of us in the same room again there is a weight that lifts from his frame. With Lyla rebuilding a new and better squad, acronym still in the works but definitely not ARGUS, and with John sharing that lead role, the handful of people are just crazy enough to work. The world should tremble at their feet.

Even with the near absent communication with them since then, John was still the only person I thought to call while Oliver was fighting It. _Please let them be at the Arrow Cave._ I don’t have a clue what to do if they aren’t. I can’t stay on this thing much longer and I don’t have any idea how to navigate up to the hospital from here. My voice gives out into gasps as panic claws for control.  _Please John, please?_  I overcompensate in the curve and we slide precariously.  _PLEASE!_

 A rumble and we are not alone, they’re out of breath, but they’re here! “Stop the bike Felicity.”

I know I don’t have asthma, but apparently my lungs are giving it a trial run as I manage a breathless wheeze, “Can’t!” The bike starts to tilt because I can’t get a leg to move down and provide support and I wobble us back into a wider circle.

John motions Lyla back with a nod of his head then steps forward, grabbing the pair of us in a giant sort of bear hug, pulling us up and off as the bike continues, skidding away with a crashing noise against the wall. Too much happened tonight, I thrash unable to make the words, ‘Put me down!’ in my panic.

“Lyla!” Another set of hands pulls me away. A twist and yank and I’m in a fireman’s carry, I clearly forgot how strong Lyla is. My body says she needs to get her hands off me while my mind tries to convince it otherwise.  _Friend. Don’t touch. Friend! Stop touching me! FRIEND!_ The room goes sort of silent loud… _I think I’m about to pass out_. There is a flurry of motion as we are carried, questioned, transferred over to firm flat surfaces mere feet across from each other. Reality coming crashing back into focus as I get my first good look at him in the light through the ever moving wall of New Team Arrow as they try to help.

Fingers press in my hair then along my skin. There is a ripping, tearing, noise, I look down and see her cutting and using handfuls of my top to split the fabric out of the way. Each sticky tug of drying blood slowly exposes more of my stained skin, the actions are not playing nice with any of my senses, each movement causing sharp pain at my ribs and I try to curl in on myself to stop the touching, stop letting them look at me, just to stop everything.  Snippets of what she says floats into my awareness. The blood and nerves knotting my stomach tight as I see John touching…assessing Oliver’s still and pale body.

She is talking but words go missing between Lyla’s mouth and my ears, “…messy, but not…All of this didn’t come from…Where is…?” A sudden flare of pain draws my attention. Lyla’s hands are out of sight, pressing too hard on my shoulder, using something to wipe along my neck, “Felicity! What did this? What happened?!” I look up towards her face, it’s moving in and out of focus, or I am, or the world is.

In the next instant something is literally shoved in my face. I’m shaking so hard I can’t unlock my jaw to try and swallow what I can only assume is a few of the panic pills that were left down here long before I destroyed the rest of the supply. Lyla swears at me to _open_ , trying to wedge a finger against the back of my cheek. All I can taste is coppery blood. _STOP STOP STOP_! A shrieky whine builds in my throat.

Thea breaks away from where she and John are working on Oliver. I can see her grab a fresh set of pills and snatches the heavy glass sloshing and threatening to shatter as I can’t help but fight in Lyla’s grip. Dumping the contents of, then smacking the pills down on the metal tray that was holding the tools they’ll need, it takes two hits to crush then grind the medicine into a fine powder. She watches me for a second, adding a hand to Lyla’s, holding a fistful of bloody hair to help me stay still as possible, then shoves the tray under my nose right as I inhale. My pulse spikes up at the pain, coughing and gasping uselessly, as the angry arguments are shouted too loud in the small space.

I’m pretty sure the insides of my sinuses, the backs of my eyes, and the bottom of my brain bleeds at the shredding burn, but it works. Slamming my panic into a brick wall and treating the rest of me no more gently. A wave of vertigo spins the room drawing it into a crystal clear focus, my muscles go lax and I drop backwards against the padding. Thea is saying something and I look at her, trying to read the words as they spill past her lips. _Something about Oliver…Oliver’s back? Back to Oliver?_

Lyla fills my vision, her features are pinched but I can hear her slower words.  “Where are you hurt?”

I slowly blink, trying to understand before failing to shake my head within her grip, “My legs- I…” ‘ _I did something, right?’_

There’s a crack followed by a pungent smell, we both look over. A few seconds pass then Oliver launches into motion. It takes a heartbeat for his head to whip around, John swearing and trying to hold him still. It’s obvious Oliver is orienting himself, readying to fight the world if necessary. Instead he is forced to fall back against the padding as everyone in the room but me takes a step closer to surround and yell at him to lay, _your ass_ , _your fool self_ , _the fuck,_ down. John shouts for everyone to shut up and in that authoritative voice growls, while putting more pressure on the bleeding gashes dug into his arms, "You're both here, You're safe, lay back before you hurt someone. Like yourself."

I need to say something…his eyes are still frantic, seeing but not seeing me. A few false starts before I force out, "Let them help." The sound of my voice gives him a path to follow. He looks over, eyes assessing, starting and ending with my face. I answer one of the many unspoken questions I see there, "You passed out. You’re hurt, bleeding, you need help."

Our friends divvy back up, each checking over one of us. They manage to get Oliver to take one of my pills, which makes things infinitely easier for them. It takes another few minutes before the general consensus is that stitches and bandages plus time are the solution to most of the damage. Correction, lots of stitches, It’s claws parted skin like tissue paper, even if they didn’t go very deep for most of these. Between us there is lots of swelling, the bruises will be dark rainbows in a few hours, small areas scrubbed clean and plastered with the sticky plastic of watertight bandaging over gauze or that disgusting sticky gel slathered overtop of the awkward stitches. It takes a few minutes to set but will seal and waterproof the wounds for the next twelve hours.

Apparently Oliver's ability to 'take a punch' or at least take a beating in a way that will limit the damage was in full force tonight. There is one thing I didn’t realize in our escape, it’s a piece of the barstool, an inch or so, embedded into his hip. “Well Oliver, I think we’ve figured out why your tracker was blinking in and out.” John rotates the wood to show it piercing the protective coating of something small and flashing. I close my eyes so tight I see pixilated multicolor bursts in order to keep from vomiting.

My ribs are hurt, possibly sprained which is not something I realized was possible, but not broken. I cry silent tears when the ice packs are pressed to them. The stress, pain, and panic having broken down my ability to stop them from leaking out as that dreaded frozen sensation creeps deep into my skin.

Each injury is cataloged and dealt with. In my hair and near my temple, ending just below my ear, I know the tiny stitches will scar less, much less than the patching that superglue would do, but each push and tug is destroying me. Dark bruises collar my neck, and a huge messy bite marks my collarbone. They pull a forest of splinters from the pair of us.

 Oliver has a concussion, bruises and scratches all over, and twin sets of crescents claw marks in his biceps. The swelling near his spine is what John things is causing the muscle weakness, the small portable sonogram doesn’t find any internal bleeding. Orders are made, to take a few painkillers "Get thyself to the shower," accompanied by, "if you don't sleep soon we'll damn well drug you."

}]}———}>

It takes two of them to help Oliver make it to the often used showers because he insists on walking, I make no such insistence and get the damsel carry before I _ask_ John to just sit me down, turn on the water, and leave me alone. He drags over an additional shower chair and sets me in it, offers to send Lyla or Thea to help but leaves at my repeated request that he go.

The room is no better or worse than a gym, rather worthy of any high-school locker room. There are curtains dividing showerheads in various sized cells, good enough for use after a night of crime fighting or training. I always avoided them if possible because the room has the strong tang of bleach, and the constant humidity is both a response and result from being underground. But now…now I would bathe in a muddy pond if it would get the blood away.

The water is cold at first but exactly zero fucks are given as matching streams of red are carried towards one of the central drains in the floor. It can’t possibly chill me more than fifteen minutes of my torso seemingly being frozen solid while small stitches were made and waterproofing was sealed. I scrub the blood from where its seeped through to my toenails, determined to work through exposed skin before stripping any other clothing off. I can hear Oliver in the one beside me, the small noises familiar as my own. The water is warmed and my right foot is clean before the medicine leaves my words slipping out. “I’m sorry.”

The response is immediate, “Don’t you dare start that-“

“I told you…I told you It killed Doctor F...”

There is a sharp inhale, “ _That_ was ‘ _It’_? That was the thing you have nightmares about?”

“Not, not, not just It.” I whisper. “But It…It…how do I…” Fragments of experiences come tumbling out. That first one, with Doctor F, feeling her being killed, being eaten, above me illuminated in the faint emergency lights from the doorway.

There are pained noises from both of us, the wet slap of soaked clothing hitting the floor. I scoot down from the plastic chair to the tiled floor, soaking, not letting the water hit my hair and face yet. That will have to wait until my stomach settles enough not to vomit as the blood drips past my eyes. The rough no-nonsense bar of soap cuts pale paths, rinsing away the stain with ease.  The implant connection is still staticky, not quite stable in its inconsistency, so my leg keeps twitching with pains.

Words spill out, stumbling along to get them beyond my thoughts, even when unordered and nonsensical. Continuing, I don’t need to describe It’s voice, he heard it at his place what must be an hour ago, but I do it anyways. How rarely it spoke, in those times it would express sadistic delight or promises of pain, but mostly it’s howls and snarls and growling. How it got mad but distracted enough for the backup guards to arrive when I managed not to scream, denying it the terror it wanted to feed on. Always shadowed, never in the safe bright light. How could it take out the power? It always came in darkness. The times it got so close, teeth and claws scraping just shy of getting a true grip, seeing my death in its eyes as the guards pulled it away…they protected me.

I whisper about the times I’d see those…shadowy people in the corners of my vision. Just out of sight in the bright and empty room, terrifyingly close. How they’d morph to being It on the bad days and worse than it on the really bad days. Of being so cold, but as long as the lights were on, the door shut how I felt…safe. “They protected me! They didn’t let It…they couldn’t have let It…It lied. They wouldn’t have let it kill one of their own. It was a prisoner too! I-“

He waits, silent other than the streams of water, so I finish the thought I’ve been trying to wrap my head around since it spoke tonight, repeating but trying to puzzle it into place, my words tumbling out faster, anxiety stressing the hard syllables, "I thought they were protecting me...but they were letting it...after the first time, when It got in and attacked, killed... I was trapped under her, like you were back there...It killed her just slow enough to... it still had time to eviscerate, they pulled it off and it smiled at me with those fangs full of... I was still covered in  _her_  and it was saying...it liked it when people screamed. Did they let it kill her? Was it A.R.G.U.S. all along? I’ve been- It's... Years of being terrified it'd manage to get in..." I shake my head and pull of the last of my soaked clothes letting it slap the ground with my open hand, breathing hard.

After a minute the divider curtain makes a noise the corner pulling slightly, "May I?"

I waiver, we've spent time nude, more time than I can count over the years of this chaos and during our intimate relationship, but this time..."I don’t...All the times we've seen each other, it doesn’t matter, but this feels... it's nude versus naked. I'm feeling pretty naked right now..."  _That didn’t..._  "Not  _pretty_  pretty, I mean pretty exposed..." I babble faster, because I can make him understand if only the words would come out right, "That isn't better, we're both- you're not  _pretty_ , you're a man so obviously you're handsome. Some men are pretty but you're not. Except your eyes, because, well obviously you've seen a mirror...I said obviously twice now. I can’t seem to stop, but it’s the pain meds this time, so you can’t hold it against me, I mean-" My voice threatens to break, I hate how vulnerable I feel.

The edge moves further, "Felicity, take a breath, can I come over?" I want to stop him, say don’t come, don’t look, but I hear the clipped words, the tightness in his voice. I nod. "Felicity?"

Realizing he can’t see the nod, and not wanting to let my mouth have free reigns again, I grab the curtain and drag it the rest of the way to the side before he can ask a third time.

The panic is hidden under his normal mask, buried deep, but as I look up and get a good look, I  _see_  him. He’s on a knife’s edge, ready to break. He looks down at where I sit then takes the step forwards, grabbing the washcloth hanging from a hook that I apparently missed when entering.

I raise an arm, fingers stretching, palm up. Looking into his eyes “It will be ok.” My voice is an attempt at certainty, fake it till you make it, power of positive thinking, and all the rest of those things that promise to make your life better.

His hand fits, locking our thumbs as he slowly, carefully, lowers himself to join me on the floor then hands me the cloth. I wrap my arms around him, and he mirrors the action. The tremor is noticeable, but I don’t say anything about it, or ask any stupid questions like  _Are you ok?_ , or  _What’s wrong?_ , or  _What do you need?_  I just hold him and whisper, “We’ll be ok. It’s just us. I’m safe, you’re safe. We made it. We’ll be ok. You don’t have to be strong for anyone right now, Oliver. We’ll be ok.” Our skin is pruney, and I’m sure the instant water heaters are strained by the time we break the embrace and pick up cleaning again. The speakers have checked on us a few times, and our responses were one word answers that ‘ _Yes,’ we are still alive in here_ , or ‘ _No,’ we don’t need help_.

Oliver’s body doesn't touch mine more than a couple inches at a time, just the leaning of heads in a silent reassurance. We both continue to scrub, helping with backs and legs as needed. There is nothing sexual about the gentle, obsessive motions on either side, just the need to be clean.  _It_  was so big, full of so much blood then adding our own…I shudder, closing my eyes tight.

I can hear him shift, make a harsh noise, then he speaks for the first time since entering my shower stall, "Lay across my legs."

Everything I can move jerks back, away, eyes flying open, " _What?!_ "

"Your _war paint_ of tear track streaked blood is making me a little crazy right now. So lean back, and I’ll get that and your hair clean." I know I can’t just wish away the gore on my head away but it still takes a minute to slow the panic and let him help me lean back so he can work.

 The soft scrubbing is gentle around the forming bruises, wiping away the suds until it is no longer pink on the cloth. Gently working through my hair is my kryptonite. Somewhere in his ministrations I fall asleep, half surfacing as he says something like, "Come on lift your arm, honey." I’m vaguely aware of being wrapped in warmth and more hands lifting me, but I can’t seem to care enough to open my eyes the night has been too much...

}]}———}>

Bone deep aching around the base of my skull and neck wakes me, so intense I jerk out of nightmares, certain that _It_ will be there, hands around my neck, with a gaping mouth of teeth ready to draw out my screams. Wrong. _Not there. Not home. Where...?_

I see no monsters in the small room, just medical equipment...and a sleeping Oliver. Deep, measured breaths are forced until my heart rate returns to normal. There's a raised tray beside me and I recognize Curtis' fast scrawl of ' _Eat Me_ ' and ' _Drink Me_ ' on sticky notes clinging to a cup of pills, granola bar, and bottle of juice... The small sketches of a purple striped cat and clock wielding rabbit make me _almost_ accidentally smile to myself.


	28. Safe Harbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Sorry for the delay, trying not to burn out between life, work, fics, and such.

John drives us home…to a new house…a new safe house. “Temporary,” Someone says, though over the echoing of snarling and screaming in my thoughts, and the distance of all three of us spread to different corners of the car I can’t tell which of my men does.

It is a couple rooms of sanctuary outside of the city for while they, particularly Lyla who was giving demands to who-knows-who, _Not ARGUS Not ARGUS Not ARGUS!_ , as we left, handle the…the _mess_ of Oliver’s place and search for any others who might have come hunting with It. I try to banish the images that form behind my eyes.

It’s small. A realtor would say cozy, efficient, snug, and any other number of ‘cute’ terms that all mean tiny. A couple stools tucked under the breakfast bar, enough space for two loveseats that convert to beds, a bathroom with a corner shower but no tub. The one official bedroom is slightly larger than a closet, and as long as the door stays open it manages to fit a twin bed with a tight squeeze that, if the wheels dig into the side of the mattress, allows the wheelchair to work.

It’s not like I have a choice, my legs have been refusing to work and flaring painfully with no regularity since the shower, but that stabbing of nerves is better than the complete absence they otherwise taunt.

Oliver’s voice is weary even though we must’ve had three hours apiece of bone-tired unconsciousness, “Thank you, this is great.” John just finishes his turn-in-a-circle-and-point tour, makes a comment on how we’re not allowed to pull shit like that again, and that he’s going to check the perimeter and call his wife since we’re ‘settled in.’

The rooms are brightening with the morning sun, traveling across the sky and illuminating past the capability of the bulbs when Oliver says it, so soft I almost miss the words, “I’m sorry.”

“You yelled at me when I said that.” I shift on the bed so I can look out the doorframe better.

There is a heartbeat pause, then a quiet, “I didn’t yell.”

I deepen my voice, I know he hates it and insists it sounds nothing like him, but it’s the closest I can do to match his, “’ _Don’t you dare start that!’_ , the tone was yelling even if your voice wasn’t.” A yawn steals my concentration and after a few seconds I continue normally, “You have nothing, _nothing_ , to be sorry for. It hunted m-”

The guilt in his voice doesn’t leave, “I couldn’t protect you…again.”

“You did. It’s dead. It can’t-“ I swallow hard, trying to convince myself It’s really gone, “It can’t get back up from that.”

“I should have been the one to-“

“Shut up.” It’s as kind as I can be to that train of thought. “I wouldn’t have been moving after the beating you took, getting It occupied, getting It in the position where I could… could make-“ I open my eyes wide at the ceiling, refusing to let them shut and relive that moment, “-the kill…You can’t keep treating me like I’m-“ It is an argument I can’t win, no matter how right I am. “I’m flawed, you know it, I know it. I’ve been broken, been wrong, it wasn’t-“ the words choke me and my voice wavers at the memories, “Wasn’t the first time I’ve killed.”

The pull out bed squeaks as he shifts back and forth, “God Felicity, I should have-“

I’m still too stressed for kind, for patient and understanding, so even though the intention is good my words whip out in a razor toned voice, “Oliver Jonas Queen, you can’t protect everyone from everything. You are  _killing_  yourself. You just obsess on the negative. I’m sorry you had a crappy decade plus, but you need to open your eyes and recognize the hero that you are.”

“I’m not a hero.”

Only the fact that he’s about ten feet away lets the pillow I lob hit his shoulder. He hisses. _Yeah, I hope those stitches hurt for that B.S._ “You have worked miracles. We’ve all worked miracles. Don’t try to martyr yourself.”

He turns, facing me, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that! You never apologize, _it’s freaking me out_.”

“I’m…yes.”

There is a silence other than our breathing and the faint noises of nature outside.

“You deserve to be happy.”

“I don’t think I can be.”

“Come here.” I say it before I think it through. His exhale is loud enough to fill the house. I know the arguments he’d make, and I’m thinking them myself. _It’s been  a long night and this bed is tiny. There’s no room for a buffer of pillows. Hell, there isn’t room for both of us to fit without spooning._ “… Husband?” The unfamiliar word trips off my tongue. Unsure, tentative, rather than the demand intended.

The spear I launched with that single word strikes true. His eyes meet mine, flinching. Oliver hesitates, then the faint creak of the unfolded frame echoes off the ceiling as he grabs the pillow and stands.

The moment is getting too much for me, so before I can think to stop it the words pop out, “You don’t have any other surprise step-kids for me do you?”

}]}———}>

It is a very tight fit, and I have to sleep with my back against the wall, facing the door, so he lays on his side facing me. Oliver’s chin rests in my hair, and after a minute he whispers softly “Don’t worry…about a thing….”

My whisper joins his, “’Cause every little thing…”

It’s stupid, but it’s safe, and the handful of words repeat between the pair of us until sleep wins its demands.

}]}———}>

I fight it with tooth and nail against fangs and claws. I would make no better progress against stone as I fight and flail, everything is so hard and unyielding. Sourceless weight and pressure slowing, softening, my moves, though it doesn’t impact It’s actions while it tears into my shoulder. I scream as the loud slurping laughs take the place of its gravely snarling. _I can’t get it off. It will kill me._ The teeth bite hard and start pulling back…lifting muscle and shredding tendon off my bones. I land a lucky hit as its grip slackens, jaw opening and roaring off me. A gagging choking noise when it rasps my name, catching my wrists and forcing them to stretch painfully high above my head before I can get another strike in. _I have to get away_!

It leans in again, hot blood dripping still dripping from its lips, voice rough and loud, repeating my name with the promise of my death in each syllable. My eyes are closed tight, terror consuming me just as it surely will when it’s done toying. I keep trying to free my hands, but the angle and the grip make it impossible. Bloody fingers, nearly talons press something small and hard against my lips. _Is it trying to wedge it’s claw in?_ Is it going to rip out my tongue just like it did to the doctor? I fight harder, twisting and yanking my arms until somehow it has a grip on the sides of my face too.  _I can’t move! I can’t-!_ My eyes shoot open, horrified at my weakness, its eyes look wrong, strained at the edges of sadistically crazed…something is between its…flat…white…teeth? I don’t have time to wonder where the bloody sharp fangs went. It leans forward again and I can’t stop the shout of ‘ _NO!’_ as it unyieldingly kisses me. The break is all it needs, something slides past my lips, crunching between my teeth as I try to bite its tongue. Then I’m coughing at least half the powder back into It’s mouth, whatever doesn’t stick to the path from my lungs to mouth. It jerks back, wheezing and gagging as the bitter powder floods It’s airway, the grip on my head, but not wrists, disappearing.

}]}———}>

My blood pressure is plummeting so fast everything spins but I see hair not fur, eyes, hair, mouth…I know those features. “ _Oliver?_ ” The thought inadvertently passes my lips, and my head whips around while I try to see It. “ _Where did it…?_ ” Someone else is at my hands. “Lyla? How are-? Did you…?” Another blink, “You’re bleeding?” It applies to both of them, me too.

Oliver practically leaps backwards, hitting the wall with his shoulders and sliding down in an exhausted slump, still trying to clear his throat so his voice is gruff, “Nightmare.”

Even the medication can’t stop the shiver that rocks through me, “ _Where is It?_ ”

“Dead.” They both say as one in a grim chorus.

Lyla drops the grip on my wrists after another couple seconds of my stillness. I look down and see the scaly pattern of crescents indented on my palms courtesy of clenched fists. Last night sneaks into my thoughts and my hands go to my still aching wounds. They feel wet…they are wet…bloody. I fight not to gag. “You ripped your stitches open. If Oliver hadn’t come in with the pills and enough strength to help force you to take them you would have done worse. You got in one hell of a sucker punch when I first tried to wake you up so you’d stop thrashing-“

“Sorry! I didn’t- I’m sorry-“

Oliver’s words tumble out, overlapping my own, the medication giving sound to his uncensored thoughts just as easily as it does to mine, “Jesus, the way you were screaming- I thought something was in here. That something was- That that thing somehow…” He shakes his head. “We need to patch up again. Before these tear open more, or get infected, or make a mess.”

Lyla rolls her eyes with a disapproving frown. “I already spent too much time cleaning up blood tonight.”

More halting truths spill from us in the few minutes it takes as she stitches the places we can’t reach on ourselves. “I really _want_ to hug you both and say sorry but I don’t want to touch anyone- _have_ _anyone_ _touch_ _me_ …I don’t- I don’t want-“ A wordless noise of frustration escapes me, “ _I hate those fucking pills_!”

John is returning with coffees and breakfast as we work, between the crossed arms and dirty looks from he and his wife it feels like being scolded.


	29. Grounded 1/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was an unintended hiatus. Life is life, and then I had other stories that demanded attention and I glanced on here because of a link and was surprised to find unexpected comments. Thank you for getting me started back into this.
> 
> That being said, I'm slightly cheating, all of this except a few clarification edits and maybe 100 words was already written in my in progress doc (as is my next 2.5k words). Unsurprisingly getting three and five minute re-reads to get back into the feel of this fic didn't help, so I need to sit down, read my 130 pages straight through and bind together what I have ready and a couple chapters scattered out of order, and take this forward.
> 
> I beg a bit more patience and thank you greatly for your continued interest.
> 
> Have a fantastic day! (And of course, unbeta'd, as always)

I am not…we are not allowed coffee. No, the steaming promise of caffeine is swerved away from both Oliver and I. Instead a greasy egg biscuit, devoid of anything else including pepper, is laid out for each of us with glasses of water and a handful of pills. The Diggles make no qualms about exaggerated “mmm-ing” and “ahhh-ing” over every mouthful of their non-bland options doing deliberately slow sips and smug looks at each other.

“Eat up, shower if you need to, then get ready for another fun trip to unconsciousness. Your bodies need rest.” John doesn’t say it as a _suggestion_.

It doesn’t matter that each breath makes my ribs painfully protest and that laying down is the best of the uncomfortable positions I can be in. “I don’t want to sleep.” _Oliver needs rest, he should sleep, but I’m fine._

“You’re talking to the parents of a very independent young man, don’t mistakenly think your ‘wants’ are going to have any more sway on your bedtime than his do.” Lyla raises her insulated cup and John taps his against it.

Oliver’s response is immediate and respectfully polite, “Yes Ma’am.”

 _Smug fucking parents. How dare they say what I can and cannot eat, when I have to sleep, what-_ The pair give me a double shot of ‘The Look’ and I cringe, my silent complaints scattering to hide. My voice is meek, “Yes Ma’am.”

}]}———}>

I wake with another nightmare hours later. I wake in a cold sweat, unable to move, scream, fight, cower like I did in my sleep. Long moments later, when the paralyzing fear dips, I can hear the sounds of Oliver and John talking in the kitchenette.

“-ing a trace on it, but who knows where that feed’s final destination point. By the time her team noticed it the batteries were dead, it might have been used weeks ago to capture live shots of what was happening in your…”

The thought of being watched by persons unknown again is not a pleasant one. Slow, careful, movements shift me in the boundaries of the cramped quarters, and it’s obvious when they notice that I’m awake and interested in their conversation. I need to know what needs to be done, I need a mental list of tasks, I need to start to gather the necessary resources…I _need_ to help.

}]}———}>

It takes our collective another twelve hours to try and track the connection, Curtis and I trace it through a few layers of loops and mirrored hosts, digitally hopping from a state away to across the world, back to Star City, then Mexico, but the trail goes cold after that.

As we finally give up Lyla tells me, should I so choose, where to access the accumulating folder, the one where her small crew has been sending their ‘observations’ during the cleanup of this whole…mess. Of course that was after they had taken out a handful of mercenaries, plain hired brute power who knew nothing and cared nothing about the reasons why, just that they were going to be paid very large piles of money for doing the work. Work they refused to share beyond absconding with me, and if Oliver caused trouble to immobilize or take him too.

Oliver limps over and uses one of the barstools, since his back is obviously still bothering him from both our encounter with It, and when I apparently violently thrashed him out of the bed mid-nightmare after our impromptu sing along.

I can feel him, them, _everyone_ hovering behind my shoulder while I stare at the file names. Goosebumps flare into existence.

 _Back up. Not so close, just back up._ I’m not going to say it, but the three of them are way too close for even false comfort right now. I may be able to force myself to tolerate brief contact with others, it still drives me to being a mess inside, and this prolonged closeness is causing sweat to itch at my brow, along my chest, under my arms.

For that moment I hesitate – images, reports, the folder they gathered and the one Lyla identifies as things they pieced together on It from the ARGUS information I data dumped just after my prison break, a lifetime ago.

“Do you want a-“

 _“_ No.” _I don’t want a pill, I don’t want some time, I don’t want whatever that offer will be. This is not going to get any easier, just do it!_

I double click the first image and jerk, shoving the laptop away with a stuttered gasp. Unlike most nightmares, seeing it in the light of day doesn’t lessen my terror. My mind panics that it’s going to somehow be among the bodies nearly touching mine, the insistence so loud and convincing that I have to see for myself It is not here, there is no way it can come through the screen.

John gives a quiet curse, focusing on the mess of blood and fangs and savagery. It…the eyes are still open, lifelessly staring like all it will take is a scream to hear the laugh that haunts me again.

“It’s dead. Felicity, I personally observed the cremation. It is gone.” Lyla’s words should help, but they don’t.

They don’t ask me to help Curtis in digging, and even my volunteering falters when I get a good look at the rest of the photos they took at Oliver’s, before they destroyed the body.

So many pictures, there are checks on every potential sign of vitals and the results. Destroyed or not the body will haunt me. It was... It was a person at one time; I can see the features under the massive alterations. Chemical, surgical, and I can only assume a psychological transformation into what it was. Lyla volunteers information not in the files, It…they were only spoken about in rumors, their ability to break into and out of any location made them a challenge, It was one of a set of fraternal twins. It started out as one of the dangerous ones… _They_ started out as one of the dangerous sets that ARGUS kept locked away, back in Wallers time.

The first, a corpse found savaged in the remains of the corrupted ARGUS they took down. The twins were... _very close_... He was apparently truly insane, only the sister could get him to follow instructions, but again, they were skilled and valuable. She must have had a complete break when her brother was killed in the escape. Why else would It.. _She_ have hunted me?


	30. Grounded 2/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still getting back into this. Thanks for your patience, and I adore you for your kudos and comments. Unbeta'd and many things rejected from spell/grammar check suggestions.

Reflections are not my friends, haven’t been since _before, but_ now my eyes catch on every shiny surface, getting a startled view of the collar of damage and stitches running through my hair. Each of those making me recall the feeling of claws holding me up by my throat, the impact. The pictures of It won’t leave the back of my eyelids. Every blink, every unfocused thought, or quiet moment and the spiel of facts, of assumptions, and all those pictures demand attention. After that first disastrous nightmare and immediate follow up one, _before_ the fodder from those reports, I get over my reluctance and quietly ask for meds.

The sharp attention of those _not-involved-in-this-frackin’-conversation_ is unappreciated but it only takes an hour to be filling up and labeling a pillbox. _It’s for now. For a couple days. For an unfamiliar place and recent…experiences._

Sedative, anxiety pill, couple hours of forced sleep, alarm to wake, food, check the aches and pains, rinse repeat once more for a fractured tracking of the clock. After Oliver goes unfocused and jumpy mid-lunch at least the anxiety pills are added to his regimen of painkillers.

This clockwork works until nightfall when the sedatives don’t send me into sleep, only a drunken grogginess that refuses to shift into oblivion. _Are you feeling sorry for yourself?! Are you forgetting the most important thing other than the fact that It is dead? You walked! Your body worked, and you can make it work again, so literally move your ass and get to fucking work!_ Shaking my head at the scathing voice in it I search the silence and hear the deep breathing of the other two from the direction of the couches. It doesn’t matter that there just isn’t room for equipment, I’ll have to be quiet to avoid waking them up…again.

Everything is aching, has been aching since- _Don’t think about It!_ Giving up would be easier but my inner monologue gets angrier and nastier in every careful movement of my upper body as I shift on the bed, trying not to strain the swelling, bruising, and stitches, let alone the agony of my ribs.

Breathing only through my nose, I am nearly silent while trying to force the implant to do its magic.

Come on, just one leg…one knee…one toe, if just one toe would move on command it would be a start. My legs mock me, the things I think I feel are fleeting, more wish than concrete sensation. It’s stupid. Infuriating. Crushing.

_They worked. They moved, carried me…I may have been as graceful as Bambi on ice, but damn it, they had worked and they will work again if I have to sit in a freaking growling exhibit of lions, tigers, and bears and send myself into panic attacks._

Just the thought has a whine building in my throat, and a groggy questioning noise comes from the other room. In the practiced move of every child ever I fake sleep. The pose is uncomfortable, though to be fair they all are, and the blankets are still shoved to the side, but my head is on the pillow and my breathing quickly matches that of sleep.

The sheet hung up to buffer the light from in here swishes and a whisper gently says “Felicity?” It’s John, which is unsurprising because they _heavily_ dosed Oliver with the sleep meds at the same time I took mine. _Someone_ got talked to about pushing themselves too hard after _someone_ snuck out and tried to do a lap around the perimeter while our _parents pro tem_ were deciding who was staying here and who was sleeping in the comfort of their own bed tonight.

He stands there a moment; I can feel it in the prickle of wariness that always comes when someone is watching me. Then the blankets are settled over my shoulder then tucked in tight under the mattress. The low rumble of his voice is soothing as he refrains from direct contact, “Act like a toddler and you’ll get treated like one. Quit faking and sleep, or I’ll take away your tablet time.” When I try to keep up my ruse he waits exactly three seconds then says, “Would you like melatonin to help you sleep?”

“Yes Sir.”

}]}———}>

False pleasantries about the pair of us looking better are not even attempted. The bruises that paint us are ugly colors and even with dreamless sleep the dark smudges are prominent under our eyes.

Midafternoon the safe house is quiet. Both Oliver and I were insistent the Diggles go together as planned to a birthday party JJ was apparently invited to forever ago. _How could they even think of taking away more family time when there is no immediate threat?_

Oliver is still limping, everything obviously making motion painful to the point he can’t hide it. When he moves the soft pants shift enough to see that thick grip-mark on his calf and just the sight of those blackened bruises makes me wince. The tremors that I felt from him are either controlled or very faint, but when he’s focusing on something else I catch the shiver of motion at the edge of my vision sometimes. His stubborn self could and would try to do something stupid that would do him no favors in the long run. With the concussion though there’s not much for him to do, _not much he’s allowed to do_ , other than take things easy, and if there is one thing I know about Oliver Queen it’s that taking things easy is an impossible challenge.

He doesn’t prove my knowledge wrong.

I am typing on my _non-forbidden_ laptop when I hear the start of a loud curse, immediately being overlapped by a crashing sound and grunt. Small and awkward it takes more seconds than I’d like to maneuver out while calling Oliver’s name in question.

He’s on the floor, part of the window frame ripped away in a tear of wood, paint, and caulk attached drywall, conveniently telling the story of what happened by being in his grip and scattered on the ground beside him. _Because he apparently haaaad to try pull-ups?_

“Are you _crazy_!?” The words are incredulous, automatic, and sharply fill the small house. His face is tight, with pain and faint guilt as he just looks up at me, grimacing. Slowly he tries to right himself, the motions choppy and at times hesitant rather than his normal effortless grace. Just as he turns to push himself up I see dark red staining his lower hip. “Oliver! Get your pants off so I can look at you!”

There is a laugh mixed in with the bark of pain as he gets his feet under him.

My hands clench, “I mean _see_ you. “ _No, inappropriate, those aren’t the right words either,_ “See your wound!”

“Felicity-,“ He sighs, and hobbles to take a seat, while I slowly wheel over, at least the kit is right there already, “I know what you meant.”

He’s too big to sprawl out fully, but he sort of reclines on a side so I can pull the hip of his pants down carefully so as not to disturb broken or bruised skin under the stained gauze. _Just like in the bunker after he tried climbing the elevator, and that gouge across his lower ribs…the scar that was there the other day in the shower after It-_ I bite my lip to stay silent as the pain points of my own body flare in sympathy. It only takes a minute to get the edges free and pull the bandage away. My grimace probably matches his own. _Well…at least he didn’t pop the stitches_. The area is a mix of dark and bright reds over mottled bruising.

My fingers hover over the swollen edges of the wound, the noises and desperate fighting that caused them swarm in my thoughts. _No. Stop. Stop, focus, now!_ Shaking my head to clear it I see the trailing of something that continues to the edge of the fabric. I follow, skimming over his skin to push the cloth down further until his hand covers mine to still it with a sharp, “Felicity.” I look up to see one of his serious faces, his hand retreating as if scared I’ll jerk away.

Something is masked and I search the signs. _Hurt. He’s hurt and I’m making it worse! No…his pupils, the way his mouth is just slightly open…He wants to kiss me_. The thought repeats as a question, with confusion, then as a statement of fact in the length of a blink. “I…” _I think I want to kiss him_ , my mind reasons, but the moment is lost, or I’m too chicken to act on that thought for now. “I’ve already _seen_ you, all of you, it’s not like…I mean…Just the other…Naked shower ti-…and we…and…I can’t think of the words to make this any better so I’m shutting up.” It is relatively short work to clean the blood that has oozed out and smear more triple antibiotic over the stitches.

The silence breaks as I tear open a clean gauze pad just as Thea yells, “Knock, knock!” and strides in, two cupcakes in hand, “They asked if I could check in on…” her words trail off as she takes in first us, the freshly exposed wound, Oliver’s guilty face, then the broken framing. Oliver’s baby sister’s smile turns into a frown, and she slowly peels the pleated paper off the cupcakes, smashes them together like an icing sandwich and takes a bite. No person should be able to look so disapproving with a sugary rime of neon buttercream edging their lips. She points at the pair of us, swallowing the mouthful of cake, “I don’t know which one of you had the bright idea, but you both lose because of it.” One long lick around the perimeter, sweeping away any escaping icing, before she sets the mess down on the counter.

Oliver looks more revolted by the “claiming” of the cupcakes than I feel about dry turkey sandwiches and room temperature milk.

No matter how delicious the vehicle of sugar based calories looks at least I’m not stupid enough to do the equivalent of a French kiss via treat my husband’s baby sister. Instead I finish up the patching and reverse myself back to the safety of the bedroom.

Thea is about as sympathetic in her admonishment of his exercise, and as delicate in her words as my thoughts are at myself, but we all pretend like I can’t hear the half hour long scolding through the sheet barrier.

}]}———}>

By the next morning, when we’re back to Oliver’s place, it is obvious the professionals Lyla used have been busy. Every visible trace of damage is gone, from the partial floor replacement, freshly touched up paint, linens changed out, a doorframe and the barstools replaced, a new pane of glass secured into the window. _But otherwise it’s the same as when I went to bed before making taking my second kill-second up close and personal kill. Havenrock was…._

A thin lipped argument is quiet between the pair of them. Even in the choppy bits I hear as I check the pantry’s former damage make it clear that Oliver’s tone is going to end it, “We’ll be fine, go…One of us will call if we need you, obviously. Just go spend time with your family…your other family, please.”

There is a goodbye with my name attached that echoes off the tall ceiling, then the door closes and it’s just the two of us again.

“You up for a celebratory freedom coffee?”

“Oh god yes!”

Minutes later Oliver hands me a thick mug of steaming hot goodness. It passes to my grasp then my fingers impulsively squeeze his, the slight change in his hold is surprise, but he smiles at the corner of his eyes. We clink then sip. It may not be the same bliss that first cup in Central City was, but it’s damn good coffee.

…

I find myself uneasy approaching the room, even awake, even in broad daylight. My hands shake as I grip the wheels and even before I ask, all it takes is a look and Oliver quickly says, “Let’s have you settle in William’s room for now.”

It helps…a little, but after succumbing to a medication induced nap I still wake in terror, searching the empty doorframe and nonexistent shadows for a dead monster…monsters.

}]}———}>

Like an idiot, I respond on instinct at Oliver’s pained cry of my name. I don’t think, don’t remember, groggy myself from the pain meds, but the fear and desperation in his voice kick me into motion. Making one last hard push of the wheels then reaching for him while coasting towards the couch where his body bows and strains. Exhaustion and hurt paint his face even in his restless drug aided sleep. “I’m right here Oliver!”

The chair crashes to its side as my momentum is used against me for the second time in less than a week. In a dizzying blur of motion my shoulder hits the back corner of the frame as we coast over the couch. My arms flail out and I manage not to crack the back of my skull against the floor. His rolling flip has Oliver widely caging my body, immobilizing my upper half without even opening his eyes. I know he won’t hurt me, or at least not on purpose, the pain is accidental, though jarring. My hand pushes at the faded scar over his heart and his eyes drag open, narrowing in a way that it’s obvious he’s not seeing _me_.

I _feel_ my heel drag against the floor, prickly and numb at the same time, as if scrabbling half an inch for purchase. Before it really sets in there is such a fierce savagery in a snarl from him that my mind blanks and a terrified silent scream dies in my throat.

My hand convulses and his focus changes, eyes widen. The whole thing takes maybe ten seconds

Everything tenses, freezes in place as he blinks, his hand shifting from across my throat to hover just shy of touching my hair. My jaw refuses to unlock, but I manage to suck in a shuddery breath and the pause breaks. “I- Did I-?” Oliver’s voice cracks, and he is off, eyes darting over me frantically searching for damage, hands clenching into fists as he jerkily tries to keep them far enough from me that I’m out of reach.

I shake my head, nerves too tight to speak. _I knew better_. _I know better!_

“I’m sorry, I’m so-“

I shake my head even harder, managing to rasp, “No. Not…fault.”

“I can call Thea, or I…I can stay at the bunker, I-“

There’s no way I’m getting out the ‘Need some air’ so I settle for the second option, making sure he sees I’m serious. “Enough, Ol-” The cough doesn’t do anything good to that frantic guilt but it’s an end to this horrible moment.

He takes a breath then, with another half-muffled apology is righting the wheelchair, dragging it over to me before stumbling away. Leaning against the banister, Oliver drags himself up the stairs quickly without another sound. _Hiding from me._

…

There are notes about food in the fridge, a timer on the coffee machine, and the faint sounds of movement or one sided talking, but he must be timing my medicated sleep against me because I don’t see him again until Tuesday morning.

}]}———}>

Injured or not, the mayor still has to work and the constituency gets rather nervous when the people in power of this city go off the grid for more than a day or two. So after the weekend of recuperation, and the additional day off, he agrees to head back into the office the next morning, or so I overhear as my shower warms on Monday night.

Or he does until Tuesday morning, hesitantly faking our normal routine when I time things so I can be waiting when he comes down. Of course I also want to make sure he’s not bungled the makeup masking of any visible bruises. Then he becomes tentative and I find myself responding to a million questions between gulps of coffee.

“Are you _sure_ you’ll be alright on your own?”

“Yes.”

“If you want I could call one of the team-?“

“No.”

“Thea.”

“No.”

“I could stay another-?“

“I’m fine Oliver!”

“If you’d be more comfortable-?“

It is too early for this, so to finally to shut him up I lay it out clear as I can, “Am I going to have to down another one of the truth pills to get you to start believing me again?”

He hesitates long enough to earn a glare before taking the lidded coffee and, still barely but noticeably, limping out the door.

I force myself to stay on the regimen of pills and food and sleep, but between the nightmares that straggle through and pushing even harder to get my body to work, _the way I know it can_ , leaves me exhausted.

}]}———}>

It takes until the end of the week before I ask if he can help with a sore muscle under my shoulder blade.

After that, and a frank conversation about some things that need to be said for guilt to ease back a bit on both our sides, we fall back into our familiar pattern and that bit of quasi normalcy helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mix of angsty and fun stuff in the next chapter - an interlude/flashback.


	31. Interlude – Five years and some months ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was going to be a bunch of short past bits, but this one part ended up as smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…you know how you have a few thousand words making up an idea of a handful of bits for your next chapter, and you like it, and you make a reference to one *little* thing….then have to go and expand that little thing, and end up making five pages of that one vague little reference… Yeah. So my mind refused to stick with just (in following interlude chapter[s] they are segmented in my WIP doc as - ) 'Missed reservation,' 'Messages,' and 'Ivy Town big argument,' as planned and became what will be these(multiple) Interlude chapters, which is quite a bit longer than intended. I thought I’d be able to post all of them at once in one but I already am behind in posting, so this is what you get for now, and if my body quits crashing into sleep at unreasonably early hours when it’s not wanted I will try to get another one out between weekend commitments. (Should anyone care to know – this part stumbled into existence off of a ‘finally turning phone on’ part from what will be the ‘Messages’ portion)

_Five years and some months ago…Away from Starling City._

We drive another couple hours after the sun sets. The trip mostly in a silence interspersed with a few handfuls of words as the stars fill the night sky. Stretching I trail my fingers up the back of his neck, over the cropped hair that makes my fingers feel prickly. Oliver ever so slightly leans his head into the touch, reminding me of a cat that is gracing me with temporary permission to pet so I let my fingernails scratch along his scalp lightly.

Humming a pleased noise, there is a pause before he motions his chin towards something in the car lights ahead.  A sign reflects bright letters, listing a few gas stations, restaurants, and a ‘historic’ B&B. “Your choice Felicity, stop to eat, stop for the night, or keep going?”

“I’ll pick door number two.” A glance at my purse, “Though maybe I should turn my phone back on, check the reviews to make sure it doesn’t have bedbugs, or ghosts, or anything?”

“It was your idea to go at least a week off the grid.”

“I never said my ideas were always the best, and my cyber addiction is itching for a hit.”

“Let’s take the risk.” Oliver’s fingers reach up and squeeze my hand. I quit messing with his buzzed hair and our hands twine before resting between us.

}]}———}>

The room seems small though I know it’s not. The furniture is just so oversized it eats the space. A massive bed seemingly built of logs taking up most of the space, a bulky desk leaves enough room between the two to get to the bathroom door, a wood burning stove in the corner near the window is fitted with a small electric heater inside for ‘ambiance,’ and absolutely out of place, a large TV is mounted on the wall, clashing with the fragile yellowing photographs of people panning for gold.

 I run my finger over the small stack of takeout menus near the remote. He’ll be back with the rest of the luggage in a minute and I can’t understand why I’m feeling nervous. _It’s Oliver. You know him. He knows you. We have…We’ve worked together, done more than just work. If that first date hadn’t gone upside down so horribly, if he hadn’t gone to The League… I mean it’s not like we haven’t done this…done that…been there, done that, dosed him up with who knows what right after. And since then…he got married-ish, he betrayed us but not really, he…I rescued him this time, I flew an experimental suit up a dam and didn’t drop him or crash us. Now we’re on a new adventure. Come on, you’ve reinvented yourself entirely, this is easy. He’s-“_

There is a knock and the leaflets scatter as my arm jerks.

“It’s me.” He doesn’t look nervous. _Because there’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s totally ridiculous._ Then I spot the small box covered in pictures of grapes nestled in the crook of his arm, balanced with a small plastic bag and the handles of the rest of our things.

The _“Oh thank god,_ ” escapes under my breath but the before I realize it.

Oliver notices where my eyes are focused, kicks his shoes off next to mine, and starts setting things down. “Ran across the street, they only had boxed wine in the cooler. I figured we could officially celebrate the start of our adventure.”

…

It’s nothing fancy, but drinking out of plastic cups while sitting on the floor while picking at the few  gas station snacks with him feels as natural as crowded around eating takeout in the bunker. Oliver finishes off his cup and stretches his back, “It’s been a long day, and as nice as driving with the top down is, it leaves a grime…mind if I take a shower?”

“Oh, of course. No problemo.” _No problemo?!_ “I mean that sounds good. Have fun getting,” _soapy and wet_ , “clean.”

His fingers brush mine and give a small squeeze. “Felicity, you ok?”

“Of course!”

An eyebrow raises as his eyes narrow slightly, “Hmm…” he looks at my face, then at the tight grip I have on my wine, “Nervous?”

The denial is instant, “I’m not.”

The look on his face practically yells that he doesn’t buy my lie. “I’ll be in the shower, feel free to join me.” It is said so casually, like it’s something we’ve done together so often it’s second nature, but there is a tenseness to his jaw that hints I’m not the only one who’s more than a little nervous. It has been a busy twenty four hours. Deciding to take off, splitting to get some sleep, pack, settle up bills and my apartment, though that’s mostly paying off Thea to shove everything I’m not taking with me into storage when she has time before the lease runs out, all the everyday things that we would be leaving behind in Starling.  At nine he picked me up so I can stop by the bank for my passport and cash before hitting the road. We'd been driving with only a few pit stops since.

A minute passes and I hear the shower door close and the water turn on. _Letting the water warm up while you’re in it? Crazy island man!_ I glance at the clock, fingers itching to just check my phone, but I’m going to stick to my tech blackout. _It’s just a week, and besides, there’s a showering Oliver waiting in the next room for me…Put on- No, make that pull off your big girl panties and go for it!_

I leave my glasses on the nightstand and slip into the bathroom. My eyes meet his in the mirror, he just nods and turns slightly, steam clouding the glass to give us both the illusion of privacy. The bathroom was not what I had expected, bright lights, small plants scattered across the vanity and the small window, and a modern shower enclosure instead of a claw foot tub.

His clothes are draped on the counter, so a few quick motions puts mine beside them. I notice him noticing out of a side glance. He may think he’s being stealthy, but the effect of his viewing isn’t exactly hidden. Taking my time shedding the last two pieces I tap lightly on the glass. Oliver opens it, extending a hand to help me in while moving over so I can get under the spray of water too. _Not closer, not away, just over…This is Oliver, my Oliver. Honestly, what’s the worst that realistically is going to happen? It’s not like ninjas are going to suddenly- It’s not like…No. We’re away from all that and this isn’t a one last chance, it’s a new start!_

Leaning up on tip toes, I press a small kiss to his lips which he returns. Our hands both hesitate before ending up chastely pressing familiar touches to each other’s shoulders and faces. A bold step forward has me pressing my front against his and the shyness crumbles.

His arms wrap around me, mouths part, and a pleased noise from one or both of us fills the small space. Wet hands slide down my back amid the patter of droplets.

As my fingertips scrape across his head again my mouth decides to break the kiss and blurt out the inappropriate before the thought fully forms, “I can’t get any sort of grip like this. I- I mean it’s short. You…They cut it-“ _Stop talking!_ My hand retreats to press against the center of my forehead and his lips press softly against my knuckles, “It’s not bad, but I liked it…I liked how it was...”

His grin is faint, but there at the corners of his mouth and eyes, while his words cut off that ramble, “Well the League was a bit more focused on fighting than grabbable hair styles.”

_Tell that to Ra’s al Ghul…or wait, is Oliver now…? Well the prior…last…the Ghul formerly known as Ra’s…and his daughter, and Sarah, and..Come on! You’re in the shower with him, quit thinking about other people!_

 The silence has stretched on too long, he puts an breath of distance between us, “Hey, if you’re having second thoughts-“

“No! No second thoughts, just my regular irrelevant thoughts…the voices in my- not real voices, just my own voice in my own mind-”

He inches back a bit further, “We don’t have to _do_ anything-“

 _What?_ “You don’t want to do _anything_?”

Oliver leans his head forward, his lips brushing my ear gently, “I think it’s pretty clear, right now, what I want. Who I want.”

My eyes flick downwards of their own accord. _Yep…clearly hard as- clear as crystal._ I move my hand back in place, sending water droplets from his hair. “Just let it grow enough to let my fingers get hold?” His eye sparkle and the faintest twitch pulses at the edge of his jaw as he nods into the touch. It takes me a heartbeat, trying to figure out why he’s doing the Oliver equivalent of cuckling, then a mental groan forms at how else that can be taken. _Well we both know what direction tonight is going, let him take it both ways._

“Kiss me.” I keep it from being a question and one press of lips turns into two, then three. A  seduction of kisses and a soft exploration of touches that goes on delightfully for another couple minutes until the water sudden goes from wonderfully steamy to tap temperature. His reflexes are fast, but even so they send him reaching for the handle a second too late to keep it from hitting pause on the make-out session as I gasp at the shock and press myself to the glass to get it open.

…

Draped in towels we make our way the few steps over towards the bed. Another kiss turns into a handful. Then a handful of his towel and a tug sends the fabric dropping from my fingers, leaving Oliver standing before me in all his glory. His breath catches when I keep that boldness and wrap my fingers around his ‘ _interest_.’

He keeps waiting for me to make those steps forward, and that’s starting to make this less fun. I want the give and take of our couldn’t-possibly-be-flirting, the shared desperation of our only time doing _this_ together before. _Well, then, let me do something I didn’t do then and see how he reacts to that._

He makes my name a rather strained question when I pull away from him, sliding my hand up the center line of his body. Pushing him in the center of the chest moves him absolutely nowhere so I give a smirk and point, “Sit on the bed.” There is no pause, if he’s resetting his thoughts it doesn’t slow him down as he immediately sits where instructed.

There are three types of first times people choose to have for their new experiences with a new sexy time partner. The _go with the flow_ , whatever happens, happens. The _play it safe_ , being a bit conservative with what you're doing so there is easy improvement when you get more familiar with each other’s preferences. Then there is the camp I fall into, the _all in_ , make it as amazing as possible, fantasy fuel, so when they think of whatever it is you're doing it will forever be the clearest memory, the thing they think about with a little suggestion or flirt.

Tightening my towel I slide down to my knees. He gets it and starts to protest, "You don't-" My fingers wrap around his length, guiding the swollen head right to my lips. Oliver doesn't finish what he was going to say as I press a kiss to the clean damp skin.

A small taste of the underside sends a shudder running through him. He makes such a soft needy noise, as my fingers stroke up until they meet my mouth then firmly back down, that my core clenches.

The sweep of my tongue across the clear bead forming at his tip turns to a kiss, then to gliding his length past my lips. My name is a moan, and I _need_ to hear it again. Teasing a loose grip I stroke in time with my bobbing. When stray blonde strands keep getting in the way I let him go with a pop and give him one more command, “Little help with _my_ hair.”

His fingers immediately go to my face, moving the hair out of the way and holding it high on the back of my head.

The first anything will always be memorable so I am extra enthusiastic, learning what speed to move my hand, if he responds better to a full gripped stroke or just a thumb and finger, if sweeping licks or fluttering ones best draw out his quiet moans and make his fingers clench in my hair.

Glancing up I see his eyes are closed tight. Releasing him from my mouth with a pop I stroke him slowly in my hand, “See how nice it is to get a big handful of hair in your grip?”

He groans, and I can feel the tension in his body, the way his hips give these tiny motions as he tries, nearly fails, to keep from bucking up with each stroke. I savor this side of Oliver, his demands on his self control are almost always locked down tight, and this, _from this point on_ is my chance to reward that, break that, learn together how to be happy.

I hum and praise with my lips, tongue, and hands covering every inch of his cock with attention, but also caressing and teasing with feather-light scratches over his belly, inner thighs, and balls, searching for any special sensitive points that make his breath choppy and moans ragged. His restrained movements grow jerky, nearly matching my rhythm as I stroke and suck and lick.

“Watch.” I tease, hearing the smile in my voice before dragging my tongue around the silky smooth crown of him.

“Felicity, I…I can’t-“ His grip is getting tighter with every motion. I can hear, fuck I can _feel_ , what the idea of staring down at me with my mouth wrapped around him does, and my own body responds in kind with tightly clenching muscles and a flush rising to my cheeks. It makes me greedy, a craving for that loss of control. A need, a must have, and I’m not above fighting dirty to get it.

I let my teeth barely graze the path I just took, following with another fast lick and feel him throb in my grip. “ _Watch._ ”

His voice cracks, rasping my name in a plea for mercy, making heat pool between my legs.

I cup him, palm just barely helping to support the base of his cock as I lick attention around the glans, “Please, Oliver…,” a small glide of him a few inches into then out of my mouth while tilting my head as far into the grip on my hair allows so he can feel me staring up at him. Letting him hover there, shiny and slick, only my breath teasing against him as I turn the request into a demand, “ _Watch._ ”

When Oliver’s eyes force themselves to open to narrow slits I smile, taking him back into my mouth.  He swears and his eyes strain wider, pupils flared so wide that on the tiniest sliver of blue remains. That gaze flicks from my mouth to my eyes, to his fingers buried in my hair, then back to my face. One hand manages to release its grip and grabs my wrist, trying to tug me up. I hum a negative around a mouthful of him, giving the smallest shake of my head while sucking just that much harder.

“I-“ He squeezes his eyes closed tight for a mere heartbeat before rasping, “I’m-“

I let the smile show in my eyes. Permission, encouragement, a demand, however he takes it when I make a vibration more than a sound of, “Mmm hmm,” his control shatters.

His body jerks and I feel him pulsing, filling my mouth. The noises he makes are unrestrained, wordless, but other than the few times he’s quietly told me ‘ _I love you_ ’ they are now the best sounds I have heard from him.

Oliver couldn’t keep his eyes open past the first breath of release, the agony and bliss warring on his face beautifully. That doesn’t mean I stop. I don’t stop watching, and definitely don’t stop wringing out as much of his pleasure as his body will give until his shallow gasps are surely making him dizzy and the muscles in his legs are trembling. Only then do I ease up, not off, keeping him in my mouth and grip, letting him start to catch his breath and slowly go soft in a hot, wet embrace.

“Felicity,” I can hear how he struggles to make the syllables coherent, “that w-…I…think I…you…” The hand in my hair, still shaking, slips to caress the side of my face.

Even ignoring how turned on I am right now, and that stumbling attempt at what is surely praise, the rush from having that much power over him, the ability to make Oliver get to that state, is _intoxicating_. Gently I release him, my smile wide. “I enjoyed that too.”

Bending, Oliver pulls me up, not hesitating to kiss me hard as he settles me gingerly over his lap, “My turn.”

I know he’s trying to sound sexy, but the sheer breathiness of his voice makes it difficult not to laugh, “Yes please.”

He nuzzles my nose with his, hands sliding to my shoulders. A pivoting twist finds him easing me onto my back before I realize that he’s laying me across the bed. Peppering gentle kisses over my face Oliver tugs my towel open. He stares, just stares for a long moment as if etching this view of me into his memories. Caressing over my exposed skin with broad strokes he murmurs, “Have I told you I love you, today?”

Playfully sing-songing my words, I skitter fingers over his tattoos, needing to touch as much as I need to be touched, “You can always tell me again.”

He does.

Oliver tells me he loves me as the scruff of his beard tickles against my jaw, in whispers between slow kisses down the column of my throat. As his fingers lead the way in a lazy path that brushes over my chest, he asks with a look, then as I arch my back to try and hurry him up, savors one pebbled nipple with that wicked mouth.

I grab his hand, sliding it down between my thighs. Oliver laughs for half a second at my impatience but that is quickly replaced by an almost pained groan as those long calloused fingers glide across the obscenely wet skin they find there. He sucks on my breast and I feel each pull like a direct line to where his hand toys. Moaning his name only encourages him to repeat the suckling over the other side, both easing and growing the ache in me.

His hand cups over my sex, middle two fingers dragging through slicked folds as I lean up into his attentions, my hands clutching at his shoulders. Our eyes meet and he releases my nipple with a quiet pop of his lips. A far too slow for my sanity smattering of kisses trail down my midline, the tips of that pair of fingers circle over my clit, slide to part me, expose me, teasing the very edge of my entrance before dragging them back up to massage the evidence of my arousal around those sensitive nerves.

His voice is quiet, a flirty promising caress of words against my belly, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Oliver presses my thighs a little wider in that firm but gentle grip, so much like our fleeting reassuring touches. Need is an ember, burning through my veins and he is taking _too damn long_ to stoke it to a blaze. When I make no objection he dips down between my legs with a low exhale as he shifts my knees over his shoulders.

A shiver runs through me, and our eyes meet as he makes sure this is still ok, smiling at whatever he sees in mine. Watching his face disappear against the most intimate part of me isn’t exactly low on my fantasies.

Pressing his mouth to me he takes a long lick that makes us both moan as his tongue sweeps over me, tastes how wet I am, before sliding up to tease a coaxing exploration around my most sensitive nerves. I gasp his name, and he repeats the lashing motion with his tongue until I moan it.

His fingers don’t stay still, again just barely teasing into me even as my hips rock up towards him. My motions don’t make him do anything other than stay at his gentle mapping of what makes me cry out and franticly squirm.

Every nerve in my body pulses with the demand for more and I plead for it in ragged words.

An intimate tongue filled kiss is placed over me then his face lifts. I can see myself shining on his mouth, dripping down his chin as he smirks that rare and hidden smile. I curse and it grows wider before he lets his jaw drop and tongue stretch out. Oliver doesn’t go back to licking so much as nodding his head, making the pressure broad and firm against me.

Thoughts scattering as I buck against him, moaning, Those wicked, terrible, perfect fingers delve in deep, nearly slip back out in their retreat, then twist and search while thrusting back in. The vibrations his low noise makes when my body clenches instinctively around him make me gasp.

My right hand is futilely trying to grab his too-short hair as my left desperately reaches, fisting the towel beneath me, needing something, something-

It takes too much to keep from trying to push his face down and messily grind on his mouth and hand, my body undulates as his work sends teasingly sharp zings of pleasure through my core. The fingers not driving me crazy tug my grip off the fabric and lace with them, squeezing mine twice in quick succession when I cling to that with as hard a grasp as my muscles allow.

“This-“ I gasp arching, my voice growing ever higher, “This would be a-!” An uncontrolled shudder wracks through me at that curling press inside, and I have to force out the rest of the thought on breathy squeak, “Really g-good time for a-aaa-ah grip!”

His eyes show his smile before his face tilts up to me, letting me see that wonderful tongue chasing the shine from his lips. “Then wrap your legs around my head.” If he thought I’d be hesitant he was wrong with a capital ‘W’ and three exclamation points. I cry out a loud moan as he buries his face firmly and worries his mouth against me, like he can’t taste enough as my legs wrap so tight that my knees nearly touch. Oliver’s own groans and obscene wet lapping, slurping, feasting noises only serve to spur us both on, making my whole body tense and burn with need, so, so close.

A third finger pushes into me, the whole set curling and twisting as his lips surround the small focus of my pleasure, tongue swirling as the pressure changes and he sucks hard and the demand breaks. Pulses of electric pleasure ignite through me, my release uncontrolled as I writhe and buck, the wordless cries as he doesn’t stop, riding my pleasure like a lightening storm shattering any cognizant thought for an eternity of seconds.

He is much stronger than me and that is the only reason he is able to stay there amid my thrashing, even so he has to breathe sometime.

Oliver has to break away with hard gasps as my legs are still quivering against his shoulders, his fingers immediately slipping free and replacing the pressure of his tongue as he pants for air. “S-sorry…dizzy.”

I'm nearly gasping with over-sensitized laughter. Feeling my heart racing in my chest while a rhythmic flaring of aftershocks sends my nerves jumping. I can feel my pulse against the firm press of those fingers and whimper as my insides clenches tight around nothing.

“You ok?”

An involuntary bucking of my body steals a strained, nearly hysterical giggle, “Too…much!” He lifts the hand reluctantly. My muscles finally given the ability to go lax as his face comes back into clear focus focus. It’s a mess and he looks smug but dazed. I repeat his question back at him, managing to rasp out, “You…you ok?”

He nods, then slowly, absolutely deliberately, makes sure I watch as he wipes his mouth then licks and sucks each shining finger clean, moaning as his gaze flicks across every inch of skin in front of him. “Can I do that again?”

 _Fuck!_ My insides clench and I shiver, “M-maybe not just…yet…”

His hand skims up my belly, tracing whorls over my breasts as his body carefully stretches over mine, murmuring my own words from earlier smugly back at me, "I enjoyed _that_ too." The hard proof of his enjoyment presses against still too sensitive parts and I try to shift my hips away with a gasp.

Oliver kisses me slowly, finding sensitive spots along my shoulders and throat, takes his time showing my body he loves mine with caresses and tastes until I'm wrapping my leg around his hips to get him closer.

It may have been all fun and games teasing and toying with him earlier, but as good as I’m sure he can make me squirm my body is ready again. My voice is a growl, as my nails dig into his shoulders when his readiness drags against my core, “Oliver!”

 His hips shift and the tip nudges downward, “This ok?”

I nod and he kisses me again, pressing forward and instead only managing to bump along my inner thigh, our bodies still new to this with each other. I squirm and he tries again, the angle is awkward…then a push forward and- “Not-! Higher!”

With a frustrated noise he pulls away from the kiss, reaching between us, aligning, rubbing that thick head to coat himself with me. My leg tightens and we both let that pull his hips down. I don't think either of us breathes until he's filled me.

"You ok?" Tension flexes his muscles as he watches my face.

I take a breath savoring the feel of my body adjusting to his. "Soooo ok."

Oliver presses his forehead to mine as he makes that first motion away and thrusts back in.

It is not perfect, real life rarely is. I may be subject to an attack of giggles as the bed squeaks and groans noisily at the combined weight of us and the building pace. It only adds to our own soundtrack, and his grin, accepting the challenge to try and find the motions that will steal the laughter away is fucking magic.

We roll so I ride him, my fingers coaxing me higher and our eyes scour across each other’s exposed flesh and open desire, committing each sight and sound to memory. It is loving, pure and simple. His body loves mine and mine responds in kind to every pleasure until there is no him or me, just us.

His hand is tight on my hips, helping with the pace as I gasp his name, the rhythmic wet beat of our bodies straining those tightening coils of pleasure low in my belly, nearly bursting once again. He reaches up and grabs a handful of my hair, dragging my face down to his gently so my hand is trapped between us. My breath hitches as he grazes my lips.

“Get there again for me- please? You are so, _Oh God!_ , so amazing! Please Felicity, let me feel-”

It is a fraction of a second, I feel him swell just that tiny bit thicker at my entrance as he thrusts deep, hear his voice catch, feel our bodies grinding together, my fingers mashing just rough enough right against myself in that frantic passion that the tension snaps. Agonizing bliss sizzles out across my nerves, some wordless cry tears out of my throat then is captured by his kiss as his body tenses and I feel him pouring into me with a strained gasping of his own.

We are both trembling, jerky in the movements our bodies make in reaction rather than choice, our words lost to nonsense noises in my ringing ears but neither of us loosens our grip on the other.

Eventually the intensity eases. Our skin is too hot to stay pressed together this way and too sensitive to part during the long minutes of trying to catch our breath.

When he finally starts to go soft inside me, something I know doesn’t take hours but feels far more like that than another minute or so, the stretch of his size eases into just my body’s not-quite-achy acknowledgement of thorough use, his hands try to lift my hips. We both hiss and squirm as sensitive parts move against each other, and I swear raggedly as I feel the evidence of his pleasure slip from me. Oliver bites hard on his lip, eyes tightening as he groans the mirror of my curse. Another second and I’m beside rather than astride him, our arms still sprawled across each other’s bodies but the air helping to wick away sweat.

My mind is scattered, flitting between wanting to moan from yet another aftershock, to appreciating how the gentle motions of his fingertips feel, to the random thought fails it’s attempt to escape as a babble that at least the towel will help with the mess so neither of us will have to sleep on a wet spot, to the fact that this was _real, real, this is real, not some deep dream fantasy_.

Some amount of time passes and he shifts, silently padding to the bathroom and back to hand me a warm damp washcloth. I know I will need a few more minutes before my body will agree to any sort of idea of cleanup so I just gingerly place it between my legs. His hand caresses my jaw and he places a feather light kiss against my lips.

We smile at each other. "I love you, Oliver."

"I love you, Felicity."


	32. Interlude – Five years and some months ago… More stolen moments in-between 1/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so 12k words and I still didn't get the Ivy Town stuff put in because I kept adding little bits to this. I make no promises on timelines but I will try to get the last Interlude chapter out as soon as I can. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own, feel free to point them out in comments. Thank you so much for sticking with me.

A sudden wrenching movement tears me from sleep into the dark grogginess of _way too early to be awake_. “Wh-? What? What’s wrong..happ’nin’..Up, I’m up!”

There is more noise from the person and the bed as the jerky motion stills. A hard breath is followed by a rough, uncertain, “F-Felicity?”

_Right. Oliver, not ‘the person.’_ “Yeah.” I try blinking but it is still too dark to see where he went. Last night starts flickering into thought and I shake my head to try clearing the remaining fog from my mind. “What’s wrong?”

“I…Nothing, I just didn’t remember…”

Searching my hand over the sheet, even as I stretch I can’t feel him. _Did he literally jump out of bed?_ “’S fine…” I rub my face into the pillow with a yawn, “It’s the first time we’ve slept together, you can freak out a little.”

His voice is immediate, defensive, and the bed shifts as he sits back down. “We’ve slept together and _slept_ together before, it isn’t a first.”

Another large yawn steals my voice when I start to try and argue that last part. Oliver’s fingers lace with mine and I tug him back towards the center of the bed. “We’ve been asleep together when I sleep and you succumb to exhaustion, the closest we got was huddled up in the van or around the table. And after we _slept_ together I dosed you wi-,“ Catching myself both in the fact that I’m still not exactly sure _what_ I put in the wine that night, and the fact that if he’s startled by someone asleep with him in bed that maybe he woke unpleasantly like that a few times during his stretch with the League. That first time together for us was a serious, desperate last chance at a memory before what could have been the loss of each other, forever. Oliver is still learning how to let his guard back down, to relax and be happy, that place is a train of thought I don’t want to remind him of. “You were under the influence of…uh…something, and I was wide awake. So this _definitely_ is another in our soon to be long list of firsts.”

Arms wrap around me, pulling me to rest on him, and I hear his heartbeat under my ear.

What I mean to say is something like, “We’re safe, you can relax…in a week it’ll feel weird to sleep alone.” What I actually say is muffled by his chest and yawns, but Oliver must get the gist, because I feel his breathing slowing to pace mine.

The next time I wake it is to the slow exploration of caressing hands. Oliver Queen, as it turns out, is quite the cuddler.

…

As we drink bitter coffee from the small machine on the bathroom counter, he asks, “You want to do anything today?”

“ _You_ ,” I say with a terribly exaggerated wink.

He gives a startled laugh at my bluntness. “I think that can be easily arranged, but is there anything other than that?”

“Hmm…Take a bunch of naps unlike any weekday I remember. Let’s relax. Maybe play spin the bottle…box.” I point at the empty wine container.

“With just the two of us?”

“Guarantees I get to kiss the person I want to. Want to give it a whirl? We can order delivery for breakfast later.”

He does.

…

Between lazy touches, showers, and more amorous activities, we don’t get around to eating _food_ until after noon when rumbling tummies demand use of those takeout menus, and the room phone…because I can go a _damn week_ …another six days….five days ten hours without my phone.

…

It takes two full days into the trip, or more accurately two full days and one more blissful night after checking in, to finally decide to leave the room.

Glorious hours of exploring, _learning_ , each other’s bodies, of making vague wish lists of plans that kept getting interrupted by smiles that in turn lead to lengthy, _handsy_ , make-out sessions, which of course leads to taking turns seeing who can make the other forget what we were talking about.

Now, as I lay here I can honestly say that this is the most carefree I can remember being. “The black, green, and red sand beaches…and the lava at that volcano park…maybe splurge on a coffee farm tour…” Talking to myself to help remember, I nudge the wide sleeve of the robe out of the way and scribble down a couple more options for when we leave on the red-eye to Hawaii at the end of the week. _Or is it still a red eye when you’re leaving at two in the morning? Those tickets were too awesome a price not to snag before leaving Starling. Either way we still have to get up to Seattle by Wednesday._

I scissor my calves back and forth, pumping them together once more before stretching my toes into the rumpled pile of blankets at the end of the bed. It’s only as his hands slide along my ribs, pushing the robe high to place a kiss over the center of my spine that I realize the shower is no longer going.

_He’s trying to get another point in the tally of lost focus, but I’m still ahead by two…must hold my lead._

Trying to focus on a mental globe, avoiding teeny tiny islands, and mountains, and the entirety of China…and Russia, I keep thinking West. “After Hawaii, where do you want to go? Japan, Thailand…?” With loving caresses my hips are lifted and tugged back, inching my upper body along the bed until I’m in a kneeling bow instead of lazily sprawled on my belly. My face heats as a very intimate breath is huffed against my skin.

_Focus!_ My voice hitchs but I press on, quickly writing in precise letters, ”Spain? France? Irelan-nnh!” The pen gouges the small notepad, “ _Oliver_! That’s cheating!”

There is a throaty noise, like a hidden laugh before he shifts to lightly nip the back of my thigh, “Says the gorgeous distraction stretched across the bed.”

“I was trying to write a list of the places we both wanted to visit…there’s also plenty of cool stuff to see here in the States.”

“C’mere.” The pen and paper fall away as he lifts me, then rolls us so that I straddle him, leaving his hands spread across my hips and thighs. “Mmm, I think this is quickly becoming my favorite view of you.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I retort, grinning with a lean forward to brush our lips together, “but you need to focus if we’re going to make plans.”

“Let’s be spontaneous, pick and go on the same day when we’re ready to leave. This is about you and me, wherever we go that’s the only thing that matters.”

“Having the time for a plan and _not_ forming one? Who are you and what have you done with my…” _Oh. What do I call him? Boyfriend? That doesn’t sound quite right. Partner? Not right either._ “-my Oliver?” It’s a lame finish, but he doesn’t call me out on it.

“New start. Just us, nothing we need to do except make that flight, nowhere we need to be, though I will say I’m hoping you won’t decide to wander away for a few more minutes.”

I sway my hips in a relaxed motion, it has an immediate effect. A few more minutes of wriggling and kisses until I can reach between us, shift and settle myself down _oh-so-slowly_ as his hips push up into me. Both our breaths catch, Oliver stares like he’s memorizing every slowly scanned inch from my face down to where we’re joined. “Yeah,” it’s soft, and full of emotion, “definitely top of the list.”

His hand slides down, thumb making small circles in ways we’ve spent this stay perfecting, and it is _so_ perfect that it makes me gasp, “Fuck!”

Oliver’s voice is teasing, “I am…unless you want me to stop.”

I laugh, “You just try to stop, I’ll…” the words morph into a gasped moan as he flexes particular muscle sets underneath me with a rather delightful result.

There are a few things that I’ve learned Oliver Queen loves in the hours that we’ve secluded ourselves in this quaint little room. One – he doesn’t mind eating takeout for every meal. Two – I knew the man was always up for a challenge, but the lengths he’ll go to excel rather than just succeed, that was a very pleasant education. And three – the he has a weakness for the sounds of sex. All the other senses involved work their magic, but when he closes his eyes and just loses himself in the actions…if I can work things so the bed squeaks a little louder, focus hard on verbalizing actual words rather than just sounds as I praise and beg and play, unless of course my mouth is occupied with other things…Oh how it works on him. One time, _only one time so far_ , as I held his head in place so I could pant and moan directly into his ear what every thrust and motion he made felt like, goading and begging him on, drawing his attention to the wet rhythm of our bodies joining as it filled the room, being what should have been embarrassingly vocal as he managed to get me off just barely before he lost that carefully held control – I made this beautiful, amazingly strong man come so hard he blacked out for a few seconds. It. Was. _Awesome_!

There is deep heat to his voice, “You’ll what?”

With his hand playing like that as he helps me ride him I can’t keep focus on my train of thought, “ _What_?”

His thumb moves only in the pauses between his words, “I just try to stop and you’ll…”

“I’ll tackle you and…and…God! _Don’t stop or I’ll be very upset with you_!”

Whatever he imagines my being very upset with him will or will not entail _works_ , because he doesn’t stop, and keeps not stopping until we’re both exhausted again.

}]}———}>

No plans were made, and we drove until ending up in some small, touristy Pacific Northwestern fishing town, just in time for some seasonal festival, or celebration, or something. Oliver’s right, the only important thing is it’s us. Again we pick a place to stay at random, some motel that’s just a fifteen minute walk from what passes for downtown. The man at the desk recommended a local restaurant, and even was so kind as to make a reservation for us while we checked in.

…

I am quite sure we have thoroughly broken in the room. However if Oliver doesn't finish his shower we're going to miss our reservation and not make it out of here before the rest of the tourists flood the main stretch. As ' _It's not authentic but these are some awesome  dumplings_ ' as the delivery food was, we both need something a lot less fried and salty after five straight meals of the takeout that quickly arrived at our door. Besides my sensitive parts are getting a bit tender from this amount of action, no matter how wonderful, so a couple hours break is absolutely necessary.

“Hurry up!” I call towards the bathroom, “We’re going to be late!”

My dress is flirty, not that he doesn't seem to appreciate everything I have and haven't worn since we made the decision to  _go_. But as I’m pulling clothes out for him that compliment the hints of lace peeking out near my knees, and fishing for a pair of socks at the bottom of the luggage, a familiar color flashes in the shuffle.  _What the...?_  

I’m still standing there when he emerges, towel wrapped around his waist. Smile dropping to a look of confusion at my expression, “What’s wrong?”

I lift a fistful of dark fabric. “Are you planning on needing this for something?”

His words fumble, and his eyes dart down at the offending object then back up. “I- That- It’s a great jacket.”

“You already brought three jackets for any weather – hoodie, rain, and cold, why did you bring _this one_? Is Kevlar in your itinerary of escape?” The reinforced chest and back of this old prototype that was not flexible enough for easily using his arrows with is heavy enough to make my arm ache at this angle. Letting it drop to the floor with a faint thud I just give him a pointed stare.

His hands keep moving, rubbing nervously at his jaw, the back of his neck, the closely cropped hair that is still dark with water. “I don’t know, I guess I didn’t notice packing it.”

“Is that your thing?” I ask point blank, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of my belly.

He blinks, eyes meeting mine, confusion clear, “My _thing_?”

A step away from the dark pile and my arms wrapping around myself provides no comfort. “The danger, the life and death, do you have to have the adrenaline rush to be truly satisfied?”

“Felicity, I packed it by mistake.” He takes slow steps forward, like I'm dangerous. _I'm_ _not dangerous, I'm worried_ , and the distraction of just a towel blocking him from being nude is not scattering those thoughts as it would have even a day ago, not over something like this.

“That’s not a ‘ _No_ ,’ Oliver. Is it your addiction, a not-so-secret kink?”

His arms wrap loosely around me, following as I try to turn my head away, “My ‘ _addiction_ ,' my ' _kink,_ ’“ his forehead nudges mine, “is sharing time and experiences with the woman I love.” Eyes stare into mine as his lips hover, just shy of kissing me. “Promise…Pinkie promise.”

I can't help but give a concerned laugh at that, pecking at his lips before pushing him away with a pointed look at the clothes. “A real sicko at heart.”

It takes him mere seconds to pull on each piece, “How about we grab dinner, since you’re worried about that too, then discuss this?”

A glance at the clock that says we have ten minutes to make the long walk, “I’m not going to drop it.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

We arrive ten minutes late, and I’m a bit breathless from jogging close-ish to his slowed pace on the well worn path in these sandals, but they held the table even with the line out the door because the motel owner is a friend of the owner.

…

I present a reasonable case, a set of logical points. The jacket is one not so baby-step back into _that_. The same thing that left so many marks on the skin I had myself all over for the past few days.

Only distracted by the thoughts of that skin on skin for a moment, Oliver counters with it being an accident; it’s obviously one of the older prototypes, it must have been nestled into a different jacket or sweater.

_Accident. Coincidence._ Part of the perfection of our escape from reality cracks, splinters off. I don’t know if I can believe him on this.

He must someone see that in my face, he apologizes, and apologizes again. Our fingers lace together. “I promise you, I have no plans to take up my old _job_ in a new location. If you want me to throw it away I’ll trash it as soon as we get back to the room.”

I sigh, “That jacket is the most expensive one you own now.” All the ways this could play out try to make a traffic jam in my brain, “Don’t trash it, that’s just wasteful. But promise me you won’t go searching for Kevlar situations to put yourself in.”

“I promise.” He raises my hand and kisses my knuckles, “Cross my heart.”

A small tug and I pull it out of his grip, dragging it over his shirt, making a wide X over that spot before letting my palm rest. His heartbeat’s soft rhythm feels right. “Keep that promise. I love that heart.”

Our drinks arrive before Oliver can say anything, but he nods as I retreat back to my side of the table. We lightly toast on it. The wine is good, the food, in its low oil, low salt, and bright flavors is better.

…

“Mmm.” My tongue darts out to catch the crumbs that broke apart on my lips. It is only then that I notice Oliver’s intense stare. Following up with my fingers to make sure I didn't miss any since my napkin disappeared, I see him lick his lips at the motion eyes never leaving my mouth. "Oliver...?"

"Mmmhmm?" He blinks, and reflexively takes a large swallow of wine.

“We have made up for lost time and more since we left, you can’t still be that distracted by the newness. If anything you should be dehydrated.” It’s only been a couple hours, even for the honeymoon style start of dating, skipping most of the awkward getting-to-know-you’s, this is a lot of sex. And for me to think it’s a lot of sex, it takes a _LOT_ of sex.

“Felicity, I finally get a chance to show you how much I love you, all of you. My brain hasn’t quite got the memo that it’s not going to disappear in a blink like when we tried dating last time.”

His words send warm tingles through my blood.  Running my fingertip along the rim of my empty water and then half full wine glass, I bite on my lip to dim my smile just a bit, "How about we just finish the wine, skip dessert, and take a  _walk_?"

"A walk?"

Mirroring a stare at his lips, reaching across the table to lace my fingers with his, I nod.

"Let me pay and we can just take the bottle with us." He glances around for the waiter, reaching for his wallet.

Since they still have to print out the bill, instead my hand tips the rest of the wine into our glasses, taking them both back to full. I take the time to savor mine, then a few sips of his, giving extra attention to any traces on my lips, trying to give just a little payback for the many those times he did all that shirtless training. When the total finally arrives Oliver barely glances at it while watching me steal another taste from his glass. Grabbing a few bills before shoving his wallet back in his pocket he covers our meal plus a tip.

It was an unexpected surprise that he mentioned during our drive, extra money for the trip, cash from his account tied the sale of a few of his remaining shares of Queen Consolidated to Ray in his takeover.

The wineglass is gently pried from my hands and raised to his lips. Draining, too controlled to be gulping but at the same speed, his drink down as he stands. Our hands join, within a few steps he’s gently pulling me along. We weave through dark buildings, laughing, making playful little comments. Oliver spins around when I can’t keep up through a tight alleyway, crushing his lips to mine desperately, grabbing my hips and hoisting me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist. Rubbing myself against him like an animal in heat gives me a deliciously buffered friction, I lean in for another kiss at the same time he does and our noses bump hard enough to have me drawing back with a near yelp.

“You ok?” A hand immediately caresses the side of my face.

Rubbing my cheek into that touch, nipping at the thumb that grazes the corner of my lips I give a small nod. “Just startled me more than anything. You?” The look he gives me is full of sarcasm and incredulity that he’d notice something so small as a bumped nose. The buzz is making a wonderful looseness to my muscles. “Fine, macho man, why don't you kiss it and make it better?”

He gives the ghost of a low laugh, rocking himself against me, “I’d rather kiss something else to make you feel better.”

_Oh...well..._ "That sounds delightful."

His hips move and he groans, “It's gonna be a long walk back to the hotel.”

I mock whisper, “Who said anything about the hotel?” I may not be an exhibitionist but there’s plenty of hidden places that I remember from our dash here, and it’s only gotten darker since then. “It’s just us out here, everyone else is waiting for the fireworks to start. I’m not doing anything exposed, but if you find us a bit of privacy…”

We twist through another couple alleys, then end up in an expanse of coastline. We have to slow when I yank on his arm to catch myself from another rock my toes trip over. Oliver’s arm moves under my shoulders and he lifts so it feels like I’m floating. Just another reminder of how strong he is. It earns him another emphatic kiss. When my lips leave his, he opens his eyes, sweeping them over the stretch around us as the first of the night’s fireworks sizzles up and bursts a rainbow of burning chemicals into the sky. “That gazebo over there… looks like there’s sunken seating. Nobody is around, no one will see a thing?”

Looking at the option one minute away instead of at least half an hour from us with the darkness, and stumbling, and touches…probably even longer, another check for anyone else comes up empty and I nod.

He takes the lead, stepping down and helping keep me steady as I follow. Another set of fireworks illuminates the simple seating, a concrete circle with a fire pit in the center, but it’s private and right here, which makes it better than the distant bed. I stay standing, since it leaves me at the perfect height. Oliver drags his hands up my thighs, my fingers over his to guide him to my hips. His thumbs loop in the fabric, slowly inching down my panties as he settles to kneel.

The discarded barrier gets shoved into my purse and I plant my feet in a comfortable stance. Oliver stares up at me, eyes not leaving mine as I hitch my dress up to my hips. His head dips. “I used to fantasize about doing this, tasting you, and now that I’ve had you…those fantasies didn’t come anywhere close to how good reality is.” He kisses the inside of my leg, then the other. “I can’t remember how long it’s been since reality was so much better than a dream.”

My core clenches at the words and the breeze that tickles my exposed skin. "Well you'll almost never find me turning that down...,” I let the smile sound in my voice, “for future reference and everything."

"Good to know," is breathed against my skin, and without another word he leans forward, watching me watch him. A slow, firm, lick parts me open. Shoulders push my legs wider, he goes for another long lick, without breaking eye contact. It lets me see his pupils blow wide, hiding the bright blue with darkness. The hot lingering kiss over my clit that follows makes me gasp.

Finally he looks away, down, stares intensely enough at those intimate parts of me that I flush, and start trying to squirm my legs closed. Oliver doesn't let me, diving into his oral exploration without further hesitation. I cry out a moan, dragging my fingertips against his scalp.

He rumbles a noise of approval, the actual words lost against my flesh. I give half formed requests – “Over...Right th- _there_!”

He is good, _really really good_ , as proven over the past few days, but not a mind reader. So it is an even better experience for _all_ involved if I continue help teaching him what I like best, knowing he'll reciprocate the knowledge share. _Just like we agreed_. My mouth waters at the thought of our positions reversed, him standing above me, biting his lip with a moan, hips twitching in an effort not to move, gripping my hair as I...

He calls me out on my distraction, “Come back here.” The fantasy breaks apart as his head dips and he pulls my leg so it is over his shoulder and my weight sinks forward against his face. I only keep from falling by that gorgeous face and my other shaky leg. He doesn't falter, tongue plunging in that tiny bit further as he nuzzles his nose against the most sensitive part of me. He is not quiet and takes my guidance without hesitation, leaving me wanton in my tremulous ride of his face.

Staring straight into the sky, fireworks paint the night with the same intensity as the jolts of pleasure Oliver is coaxing from my body. I'm on the cusp of bliss when loud barking invades our privacy. Instinct has me straightening, shoving his head away as he makes a startled sound. The front of my dress is down before I can even figure out where the noise is coming from.

There is a whine of disappointment from him that goes silent as I hiss, “Someone’s walking their dog nearby!” Oliver’s fingers slide from my knee up near the bare skin his mouth was just buried against as he looks around. I can see the shine of me spread across his face and swipe it away with my palm.

With regret visible he grabs that hand, voice suggestive, “We could wait until they move on?”

“No.” The sounds of people talking and more excited dog noises are getting closer and a large set of fireworks burst, brightening the sky and the no longer secluded seating.

He kisses the center of my palm, licking where his lips part, murmuring, “You were close, I could feel you shaking.”

I hiss, closing my fist so he can’t lick again, “Shut it!”

One lumbering furry bundle of energy comes charging over, barking. I let out a startled shriek, legs squeezing tightly together and my hands block the second overly enthusiastic face from it’s interest in getting up in my business; my missing-a-layer-of-clothing _business_. The other interested party, Oliver, puts himself between me and the dog before it can touch me, just as a second and third hound come loping over to join in with excited barks, all three animals sniffing and bumping up against him.

_Are there no leash laws here?_ I’m embarrassed by my overreaction, making shooing sounds and motions to try and keep us free of puppy kisses and sneezes when a voice, the owner, calls from maybe a hundred yards away. The tenseness that filled Oliver’s frame at my shriek does not leave him, even as it’s obvious the animals aren’t a danger. A sharp whistle and a command have the dogs sprinting back.

“Sorry, didn’t expect anyone out in these parts,” the man shouts, “They wouldn’t hurt a fly, just forgetting the rules. They get a mite spooked with the fireworks going on so I let them run, they know better than to bother strangers.”

Oliver makes some sort of dismissive response that it’s fine, his face contradicts the words but it’s not like the stranger can see. Our walk back is slow and quiet, and we make it back to the hotel after the fireworks taper off.

A quick rinse off and he tries to go back down on me but it’s not quite the same. The desire is there but he’s not relaxed and we end up settling down into soft touches when our enthusiasm fades. It’s barely past nine when we decide to call it an early night so we’ll be ready for the early flight.

I try to sneak a quick glance at my phone, email withdrawal hitting hard but it’s powered itself off. The battery must have died somewhere on our trip up the coast and because it was in silent mode there was no buzz or chime to warn me. “Hey, toss me your phone, I’ll plug them both in so they’re ready before we leave tomorrow.” Oliver gives me a look that lets me know I’m not fooling him. “I’ll leave them _off_ , just charging!” Mildly chagrined, I do, and get one last kiss before he pulls the blanket up and cradles us together.

The circumstances that shaped this unbreakable fragile man are things I had no control over. I _know_ that I don't know everything. It’s obvious that he shared some, not all, _like anyone would do to protect themselves_ but damned if I'm not going to show him he is safe and wanted with me. Even after these past few years of working together, he’s still so set on being this fortress with all the emotion trapped away inside, but I’ve seen the shift from stoic to that almost startled confusion as I hugged him or John had offered reassurance. The hint of a smile quickly hidden away again that shows the real pleasure in the connection, before he reminds himself that he thinks he isn’t worth it, can’t have it, or whatever other nonsense goes through his brain and steals his happiness.

He has this fortress of protection in his mind, steel gates, stone blocks, moats, mazes, distractions and I'm going to get him to lower the drawbridge and let me in if I have to tiptoe through hell to get there. So I don’t point out that he still doesn’t fully let his guard down. That since that first night he’s made a blanket barrier between us when he thinks I’ve drifted off, or that he doesn’t fall asleep before I do to try and make sure it stays in place.

…

_Plane! We’re going to miss the plane!_

The thought has my eyes flying open, only to be met with the glow of 10:24 on the clock. _Not going to miss the plane…Can’t miss the plane…If I just use my phone as a clock it won’t count, and I can add like five alarms so we are up in time._ Stretching my fingers over to the nightstand I snag it, covering the speaker while powering it on.

The thought spills out of me as a yelp, “What the-?!”

Oliver jerks upwards from where he’s snuggled into the pillow-blanket barrier beside me, words slurred as he fights the thick comforter off for his freedom, “Wha’s wrr’gg?” His eyes are fighting to widen while blinking against the glaring brightness of my phone.

“37 messages!”

His eyes flit from me to the phone in my hand, as if trying to figure out how the messages could pose a danger to me. Another look around the room and me again before apparently deciding it’s safe, he wraps an arm around my waist, scoots closer, and spoons against my back, “Too early.”

“I need to set some-“

He nudges the small rectangle back over onto the nightstand and out of my hand. “Not been a week. You set up the wakeup call with the reservation.”

“No, I set the ‘ _quit molesting your gorgeous self because we need to get out the door_ ’ call. It’s not a private jet, we need to be there early for check in, security, boarding-“

Oliver’s hips press forward as his hand snakes down, “Molesting me? Why wouldn’t I be the one molesting you?” A low whisper, “Was having a _very_ good dream about molesting you.”

“Because you do a better job at distracting me from staying on task...” My words turn into a moan as his fingers nudge along then, just barely, inside me.

“Mmm…you’re still slick.” I press on his hand and that pair of fingertips move deeper. A much more awake part of his body presses against my backside, his hips rocking to settle us flush as he teases his lips against my ear. “You take me off plan all the time.”

Rolling his body over mine, it is fast, messy, still half asleep he continues to do a good job at distracting me, and my phone remains a forgotten task.

…

Sleep is stolen, forcing me into the reality of being squeezed and nearly crushed as a small panicked noise comes from behind my head. It takes a heartbeat to recognize the voice, the smell, the strength as Oliver. His body jerks, muscles tightening enough around me to make me ache under the bands of his arms. That inch of blanket is the only reason my upper half isn’t completely immobilized and I can pull in small breaths.

His breathing is strained, a protest vocalized as I try to get free.

“Oliver!”

Our bodies are curled up, Oliver’s knees keep trying to pull up to his chest with the obstacle of me in the way, so even with the buffer he’s surrounding me. “ _Don’t! Please?_ ” A hoarse, pained sound tears from his chest.

My mind screams at me. _The song! Sing the song! Let him know he’s safe, it’s you, it’s a nightmare!_ But I can’t think of a damn word or the tune of what I know is oh so simple and familiar as he shivers so hard around me his teeth click together. “OLIVER!”

The crush tightens, what must be his chin knocks against the top of my skull as I wheeze out my breath, then he goes completely still. A heartbeat, maybe two, I tremble with the force of his body shaking before his arms steal themselves off and away. There is a ragged breath, Oliver rasps out “Sara!?” Jerky movements shake the bed as he gets more space between us.

I take a blessedly deep breath, “No.” _Was the nightmare from around the island and boat or from the past couple years?_ “It’s Felicity.”

My name is a confused question repeated back, then I feel his fingertips shake as they start to touch then pull away from my arm, the motion scurrying away until he’s off the bed, limping as he puts distance between us. “Felicity?...I-I’m…Shit! Did I-?”

“’M fine. You ok?”

He is pacing, rubbing hard at his arm and chest. Looking hard at me before dragging his hands across his face. “Did I hurt you?”

I reach out a hand towards him and he shies even further back, nearly tripping over his own feet in the most uncoordinated move I can remember him making. “No, Oliver _I’m_ fine. Are _you_ ok?”

“Nightmare.”

“I know…but, Oliver you…you’re not moving normally.”

The exhaustion clear in the bright illumination from the window that reveals his frame as I fumble for my glasses. The limp is pronounced, and he’s holding his arm oddly. “I’m ok. Old injuries just acting up. I have some painkillers that will help.”

_What?_ It’s my turn to give him a suspicious look, “You never took painkillers back in Starling. You only took what you needed to keep moving, then tortured yourself otherwise.”

He doesn’t stop moving, keeping the distance between us, “You never saw me take them, ice to numb or heat to relax usually worked better anyways.”

“On what? Your knee?”

“My knee…the arm Thea shot…chest, back, just…old wounds.”

 I crawl across the bed, reaching out for him, “Oh honey-“

A hard shake of his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing! Lay down, I’ll get you your pills. They’re in your bag?”

“I’m already up.”

He grabs something…his hoodie from the chair and wanders to the bathroom. I hear the water run for a minute before squeaking off.

I put my glasses away and smooth out the sheets waiting for him to come back out.

His voice is quiet from the doorframe, “You sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“You didn’t.” Oliver’s shoulders slump despite my words. “You didn’t, you wouldn’t, I’m not afraid of you.”

“God Felicity, _I could have-_ ”

“But _you didn’t_. Now, come here.”

By the concern in his tone you’d think I’d just asked him to smother me, ”What?!”

I keep my voice calm, “We have to be up in…” The clock comes into focus and I mentally groan. “Two hours for the flight. Come here.” I pat the still warm spot beside me on the bed. “Cuddle up.”

“No!” Panic flashes on his face. His arms cover his chest like it will put more space between us as his eyes dart around the room. “No, I…I think I should sleep on the sofa.”

My cool is officially lost. “ _Excuse me?_ ” He doesn’t answer, just starts pulling his pillow off the bed. A faded memory of my dad sleeping on the couch when I needed some water the night before he left sends irrational worry through my veins. _He’s run away from it all, us all, before, would this tip him into that flight mode again? We’re not playing the guilt game. Not here. Not now._ “Oliver Queen, what part of that sounded like a choice? If you’re not comfortable holding me then you get in here and face the windows so I can hold you, but you are _not_ sleeping on the couch.”

The limp is still pronounced, and each step is a reluctant shuffle, but he does what I say. His tentative attempt of an embrace doesn’t cut it, and he rolls over as I turn and press against his shoulder.

There is an obvious size disparity, making the role reversal a bit hard to settle into, but I don’t let it stop me. By his sudden stiffness I’m pretty sure he’s always played the big spoon, but I’ll be damned if he’s going to stop me from cuddling him. My leg goes up over his hip, letting me tuck my calf between his thighs, an arm drapes over his shoulder, fingers just grazing over the tattoo on his chest. My face presses against the back of his neck, until as much of me as I can get is pressed against him.

He is tense, but as I trick him into following my breathing he just melts into the embrace. This time, through sheer stubbornness on my part and obvious exhaustion on his, he falls asleep first.

…

“ _Fuck!_ ” The radiant heat moves out of my reach and the weird ringing in the room finally registers. “Felicity, we’re _late_!”

It takes half a second for it to sink in as I stare at the clock. _Oh man we are super late._

At least basically everything is already packed. There’s no time for showers or coffee. I rush to check out through the TV and shove phones and chargers in my purse as he carries our stuff down to the car. _The car we have to leave at the long term parking spaces_.

Navigating off memorized directions we’re insanely lucky there are no cops around to pull us over for speeding. It’s tight, but we manage to make it there in time to catch the second shuttle and I spend those few minutes trying to check into our flight with the weak connection of my phone.

We still have to drop off the luggage, which I’m sure will be none-too-gently thrown onto the plane, then security takes minutes we don’t have, but they at least page the terminal to let them know we’re here. Thankfully the airport isn’t busy this early, though we’re still running, my laptop bag smacking my hip as he hauls both our carry-ons, no longer sporting the limp from last night. We make it to the gate as they’re finishing the last of the boarding.

I am half leaning over to catch my breath as we hand over our tickets. The cold artificial light and not-quite-right enclosed sound greets us as we settle into our seats, recycled air already feeling stale. I squeeze Oliver’s hand and smile, whispering “ _Hawaii here we come!”_ He huffs out a quiet laugh, and gives me a set of small kisses before the plane taxis out.

}]}———}>

To truly understand the lowest of lows you must first reach the highest heights. Haven’t I been told over and over that life takes every opportunity to knock the legs out from under you, shoves your face in the ground, and kicks you while you’re down? I’m with the poster boy for having it all before it’s ripped away. I should have known better than to let myself hope for the best.

Oliver hadn't flown economy class before. It seems like he's all or nothing in so much of his life, he's been a millionaire and penniless, ridden in private jets and first class and in rickety cargo planes. Through the safety video I stifled a laugh when he commented on his seat being broken while he tried to recline it more than the couple degrees it allowed. If our account balances are going to stretch across a few red eye flights, trains, and whatever places we would stay at after here on our paradise run, for who knows how long until we decide to pick up a job or two, we can be a little frugal.

We both manage to catch another couple hours sleep before the attendants came around with carts of coffee and sodas.

The laughter at takeoff is a distant memory by the time the in-flight news plays the pared down happenings ‘from the mainland.’ Those long hours over the ocean to Hawaii are where the outside world knocks me for a loop.

I wasn't really paying attention until a familiar face was pictured and I fumbled for the headphones. " _Please, no-!_ " Oliver's focus is immediately on my two word denial, asking what was wrong before he thinks to look at the tiny screen.

I’m not really sure of everything that goes on around me for the remaining hours of the flight, but I do know the warmth of his hand is the only thing keeping my silent tears from breaking down into sobbing. Staring in shock as the report drones on about no evidence of foul play, no other casualties, no structural damage to nearby buildings, and other information _I don’t care about_. I wordlessly beg Oliver to tell me it isn’t true, but his grim face as he reads the small bar of scrolling information refuses even that illusion.

I remember the messages on my phone. Not caring if it is allowed or not I pull it from my purse, curse its silent settings as 38 voicemails now display, and dial my mailbox.

The first message is Thea letting me know everything is in the storage container and on its way to the central storage facility.

The second is the information on how to contact the storage place and my container information for when I want the thing delivered, ‘Wherever, as long as you stay in North America. Just don’t go too far. Tell Ollie I love him when you two come up for air!’

The third is her asking about were the other spare key to my apartment is.

Next message, Thea yet again, letting me know John dropped the key off at the leasing office.

Then John, serious tone, “Felicity, call me as soon as you get this…it’s important.”

John again.

Thea.

A handful more calls between the pair of them and my Mom who remembers mid-message that I told her I was off to enjoy ‘a vacation’ with Oliver.

Concerned messages last about halfway through the waiting recordings. The slimy condescension of reporters trying to get quotes from me for their articles on everything from the business implications of the explosion, to information I may want shared for biographic pieces.

It’s sad…no, not the right word, it’s heartbreaking when the messages I end up wanting the most are the spam ones insisting I’ve got exciting new opportunities in timeshares.

John’s next message sounds rough, tired, “Felicity, I’m sure you’ve heard by now…we checked the building footage…and after they searched the rubble… _I’m sorry_ …I’m a phone call away, _whenever_ you, either of you, need it.”

A few more from our extended family concerned because of our radio silence.

Not many left when Ray’s Board of Directors stresses that I need to get in contact with them immediately.

A second from them about a complication, a dispute of my rather abrupt resignation. My promotion had come with conditions including a thirty day advance notice of leaving the company. I had forgotten signing that bit of paper until hearing it read aloud verbatim by whoever this is. I am informed that due to those restrictions, my VP status, the sudden tragedy I have been temporarily promoted. Into Ray’s position.

One more, apparently from what would have been right round the time we were butting heads over the jacket, stating that I needed to make immediate contact with them or they would begin the pursuit of a breach of contract case against me. ‘The shareholders want stability, and like it or not, since you’re recognizable from your work with Mr. Palmer, and the position you held, _you are that symbol of stability_ that will help hold the company’s stock price through this storm.’ _Like I care about the stock price!_

I stop playing the messages, dialing the office and pressing in the extension they gave. After a handful of rings a serious sounding voice asks me who I am and what I want. My voice is choked as I tell them, barely remembering to make up something about being out of service areas, that I just found out…”Has there been any sign that Ray might have-?”

_No._

_Of course not._

_Otherwise I wouldn’t be needed. Interim. Temporary. Calm the shareholders, continue with Ray’s optimistic plans for Starling…the renewed push to rename it as Star City has already snowballed in momentum._

My voice is ragged with grief, tears still forming as sunlight fills the plane and I tell Oliver what’s happening, he just holds me as tight as these tiny seats allow and tells me we’ll deal with this together.

…

Hawaii is supposed to be beautiful, but I wouldn't be able to tell you anything but the view from the hammock at our rental. The final hour of the flight, getting the luggage, the ride here, I know they happened but grief is stealing those minutes from my memory.

Oliver asks a couple soft questions, things that can mostly be answered by a nod or shake of the head. He holds me, a warm comfort, grieving in his own unspoken way. _Their relationship may have been different than my relationship with Ray, but there was a growing mutual respect... admiration... friendship; and now he...he's just...Why?! It's not fair! He was a kind soul, selfless and almost infallible in his level of optimism and hope-_

Another set of sobs wrack through me. Oliver's arm tightens, providing silent attempts at comfort with his heat at my back, across my belly, and stroking softly over my hair as the tropical wind nudges the hammock back and forth.

...

"Do you want to go back to Starling? For the funeral?"

I shake my head again, sniffling before taking a deep breath, "We just left....besides we...” _They didn’t find a body…The tapes could have been doctored…He might…he could be alive. If I don’t prove it to myself then he could still be alive._ “I don't want to go back."

“You loved him. Who would be better to give the eulogy?” The words are quiet and emotionless. They make me think of his near silence since arriving. The physical closeness he provides without pushing for more. The solid feel of his erection pressed against my backside as he first stirred in the morning that was quickly shifted away, the few words of comfort and the stupidly mundane things – making sure food was available, putting my open suitcase where I’d be able to grab clean clothes on the way to the bathroom, making sure my pills were unpacked and on the countertop.

The lack of _anything_ in that statement sparks rage. _Of course I love him!_ I correct his tense with the desperate hope of a miracle. _I love him, and John, and Thea, the Lance sisters, Roy, Lyla, God help me I even love those genius dummies over in Central City_. _But don't say it like I'm...I'm..._

My voice cracks "I _love_ them, _I love_ _you_. I just...I'm feeling too much right now. I can't...it's too much!" My mind snarls that this trip was supposed to be about us, having fun, away from everything bad the masks could bring, before grumbling back to sorrow.

...

Paradise and Oliver do their best to drag me out of my gloom. But grief makes no sense. I should be happy to be away, with the man I love and who loves me in return, to be in this beautiful escape from everything, and the morose existence has deep claws in me.

It is only when I wake in the middle of the night that I realize I fell asleep sometime in the afternoon. Feeling around, my phone confirms the time in a bright glow. Oliver’s soft, “Hey…You ok?” let’s me know I’m not alone.

I apologize even though I want to demand he be as miserable as I am…His walls are back up, stronger than ever, so for all I know he is.

...

A long conversation with HR revealed that while Ray may have entered in information that I resigned, it was minutes before the explosion and there is internal concern that it was done under coercion, especially since there were contradictory instructions from Ray that I be named CEO should anything happen to him. The idea to put me in charge must have been one of his many, this one put in writing when he started actually using his exosuit. The B.S. about continuity and shareholders was just a lie that makes my anger simmer at the Board.

_There was no reason to lie, especially to your new CEO!_ For that I insist Ray had offered a two month sabbatical if I stayed on. Since there was no documentation of that they reluctantly agree to use thirty of my accrued forty five vacation leave days, but after that I have to at least work remote on a limited basis for the remainder, only after resuming fulltime work could I proffer my resignation. I would, at least on paper, be acting CEO effective immediately.

…

Staring the relatively short distance away, watching a waterfall of glowing red lava cascade into the ocean and send billowing plumes of steam into the air helps my mind clear. Absorbing the scene in silence, other than every so often when he asks if I want to head back, and my quiet response of “No.” We stay there as the sun sets and the darkness seems to shift molten rock in color to neon yellow and orange that still illuminate the deep churning explosions of cooling stone sinking into the water.

_This is it. It’s not fair to us and not fair to the memory of him. Ray wouldn’t want me to mope. The love of his life was killed, did he sit around and mope? No! He was happy, he was kind, he lived life to the fullest. He took risks and moved on without forgetting, and damn it, so will I_. I imagine my grief for my friend is flowing like the lava. Imagine it transforming into a foundational part of me, growing like the island, just as the grief for other lost friends and lovers helped set my determination. _But they keep coming back_ …

I shake my head and focus harder. _Cleanse, become a better version of you._

Reaching a hand out, my fingers find Oliver’s. “I’m sorry.” My next words are out before he can finish forming a question. “I don’t feel emotions halfway and this just…it blindsided me. It was wrong, he shouldn’t- It was wrong, but that doesn’t matter in the world we live in.” Oliver stays quiet, just showing he’s listening with a nod. “I know I haven’t…Hawaii isn’t how it should have been, and maybe we could try it again someday, but can we go? Redo our new start? Just go somewhere, anywhere new?”

I am pulled over into an embrace, “If you need more time you can have as much as-“

“I need to move forward. Please, pick somewhere and let’s go.” I rest my head against his shoulder, letting his heat sink into my skin.

He kisses my brow, thinks a minute, then hugs me tighter. “How would you feel about…”

}]}———}>

We hop around the world, enjoying a few hours, or days, or weeks in one beautiful place before meandering, planning, or just lucking into the next for the month of freedom.

It is not all perfect, sunshine and orgasms are plentiful but not exclusive. We talk a bit about things the other might not know about our pasts, guilty pleasures, bucket lists. Twice he catches food that has nuts in it before we dig in, once he doesn’t and it is not a fun trip to the nearest emergency room which is a harrowing fifteen minute taxi ride away.

}]}———}>

There is the time we explore caves that endlessly echo with small drips of water. I whisper cheesy pickup lines and they bounce around and get louder as he laughs, goading me into making up even more outrageous ones.

}]}———}>

We spend a week lazing away between tourist traps and open air markets. We get a little sunburned and from then on Oliver makes sure I have sunscreen in my purse at all time, occasionally swiping it and daubing a smear across my nose.

}]}———}>

A glorious weekend is spent visiting sunflower fields that stretch on to the horizon.

}]}———}>

At a hole in the wall that has these amazing fried cheese things, we sit flirting between nibbles, he plays with the dregs of his second beer while thumbing over my knuckles. I take another bite of the messy thing I can’t pronounce, licking my fingers when he looks up suddenly and my blood turns to ice.

I don't know what would make him look like _that_ , that fear... his grip tightens, yanking me across the small table toward him without hesitation before the thought finishes. Fist sized _somethings_ hit my back as shouting breaks out, and not entirely empty bottles finish their arcs to shatter across the floor a few feet away, splashing warming beer on everyone near us. As I'm still moving towards his body the sound of something crashing starts to form over the raucous crowd. He's positioned me, turning his body to form a shield before the world makes sense.

His hands run across my back, assessing without the hesitation of words, then as I grab a chair for support he turns back and throws a punch. One. The closest guy crashes into his friends, and they drop to the floor, unconscious, ending this newly birthed brawl, at least on this side of the room, before it can go any further. Angry screams and threats intensify from further away.

We are out the door without anyone following us, the argument inside getting even louder. He’s breathing hard, the muscles in his arms jump under my touch. “Oliver, it’s ok. I'm ok. It was just a stupid-“

“Honey that was the hilt of a Bowie knife that hit you. If it has been the blade...” His hand presses against the sore points on my back again.

“It wasn’t…Come on, let’s go back to the room.”

He walks me there, does not choose to join me in the shower but changes while I quickly clean off. My brow scrunches in confusion when I see him in his green hoodie and soft pants after I get out a couple minutes later. “Oliver?”

“I'm gonna go for a run.”

I can see the signs. The same need for action he used to have. His frame filling with hidden, panicked, tension. I couldn't do much in the past, other than be his eyes and ears, or send a message out to the team that it was workout time. _But now... I can give that action purpose. I can sooth him with touch and flood him with endorphins._

It works for a little bit. He loves me until I'm exhausted and I quickly fall asleep in his arms.

…

I wake, feeling something wrong, the clock telling me it’s a couple hours later. Stretching my arm to his side of the bed, I find it cold and empty. Gathering one of his discarded shirts around myself, fumbling on glasses, I pad barefoot, searching. There isn’t far he could go in here, and I find him shadow boxing, shirtless of course, just beyond the open balcony door. He doesn't hear me and I stay far enough back that I can't make out his details. He drops down into a set of pushups, then hops back into fighting fantasy opponents.

I smooth down my bed-head a little then move forward at a sleepy gait, only make it a handful of steps before his attention zeros in on me. I see the shift in his stance to a pretend casual, then I fake a loud yawn and say his name in question.

Oliver scans his eyes over me, but it’s concern, not desire I see in his gaze. "Hey...it's early, what are you doing up?"

_I could ask you the same question, have you even slept an hour tonight?_ "Had to pee. What are you doing out here?"

He doesn’t have to think for an excuse, it’s instant, "I was going to run down to the plaza and get us something for breakfast."

“Oh…gimme a minute and I’ll go with you.”

A ghost of a smile is gone almost as soon as I start to see it, “Literal run.”

_He needs more time on his own._ “Oh...well don't take too long. I’ll be fresh from a shower when you get back...though,” I mimic his casual ask from that first night of our getaway, “feel free to join me.”

Oliver gives me a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and takes my hand walking me back to the center of the room. He grabs his hoodie and some of the local currency from our crumpled mess of cash. “Take a shower, sleep a little longer, and when I get back I'll work up your appetite.” _Gee, make it sound like an obligation much?_ He kisses me and slips out the door, telling me to deadbolt it behind him.

Frustrated I pace…I shower, scrubbing my scalp and skin with tiny hotel shampoo and soap, then return to more pacing when he still isn’t back yet. I glance at my phone, calculate the time difference and call into the team line.

It’s John who answers with a strained but pleased, “Hey there stranger, how's Asia?”

I smile at his warmth in his voice, “Were in Europe for the moment before hitting some islands, but it was, and is great.”

“Why the call?”

“Do I need a reason to check up on my beautiful coterie?”

“Of course not…though maybe you can help with a few tips? We’re trying to figure out how to identify some off-shore accounts to trace where a couple big players are stashing their war chests.”

It takes me less than five minutes to talk him through setting up the search. Being able to help him starts to ease the deep itch of anxiety over Oliver’s need for distance today, so I casually mention, “If you keep it off of Oliver’s radar, just hit me up when you need a little magic from me. I should be able to at least point you in the right direction, besides I have to start doing a few hours work for Palmer Tech this week anyways, so you’ll be a welcome distraction.”

…

When Oliver finally crashes many hours later he has his first nightmare in weeks, crying out and grabbing me to him while rolling us away from whatever is going on in his head.

My startled yelp snaps him out of it, and we are both aware that it wasn’t just a fluke. He’s breathing hard, scanning over me with hands and eyes, whatever he needs to see is there, and he hugs me tight again. I say it gently, trying to spread my warmth to him, “What happened?”

So far, when he wakes from the worst of his nightmares, a few of the ones back in Starling, and now two of the three he’s had since we left, he is usually shivering. In our day-to-day he is a master of masking discomfort but in those first few seconds fear, pain, and cold have goosebumps on his arms and send this involuntary trembling quaking through his body.

He shakes his head, “Nothing good.”

“You know you can talk to me.”

His kiss is haunted, hands on my pulse points, voice tight, “I know. Go back to sleep. It’s been a long day.”  
  
Half an hour passes, and Oliver is faking. His breathing settles, his muscles loosen, there are no physical cues but I can sense that he’s awake.

Shifting from his embrace, I curl around him. I hum the _Three Little Birds_ refrain, nuzzling against his neck, lacing my fingers with the ones he was hiding under his head while gently stroking over his chest and stomach.

A deep sigh comes from Oliver before he finally starts to relax. He hums a low accompaniment with me a few times, and in minutes we _both_ drift back into undisturbed sleep.

}]}———}>

The sun rises welcoming the day and revealing an otherwise empty bed when I pry my eyes open.

I help the team before my conference call about the next push in connected wearables. Oliver shows up an hour later, shiny muscles and hair damp with sweat, dropping off some fresh fruit in the kitchenette before heading for a shower.

The meeting is _boooooring_ and has been going on seemingly forever as one monotone voice after another talks about the ad campaign effectiveness from the last quarter. I sit in the chair in a haphazard sprawl of undress since neither conversation is a video call, the small stickypad sheet covers the laptop camera anyways just to be safe, from where it’s perched on the armrest rather than the side table.

Oliver emerges from the shower, all damp, warm, and tempting but I force myself to keep my divided focus on my current tasks. It is not helped after he mouths and mimes the question to see if I'm muted and I nod, thinking he's going to chop the fruit or start some more coffee. Oh no, _no food is involved_ as he kneels in front of me, kisses my knee, the splits my mind in a third important focus.

I listen via the headset as the board member drones on about sales trends and promotional efforts, while hacking into the security company and transferring video logs to the team's server for _someone_ who would not appreciate knowing how very distracting her brother is being right now.

I glide my toes up Oliver's thigh at the same pace he kisses along mine. When he licks over the thin fabric that separates his mouth from its intended destination I gently cup him with the top of my foot, encouraging, because I have yet to find a time when I say no to this particular skills set of his.

He works with focused dedication to get me squirming into each lick, suck, and teasing touch when people _I really don’t want to care about_ at the moment require my attention. It is painfully hard to try and stop him with a tug on his ear. Doubly so right after he's _finally_ pressed two gorgeous fingers into me the scant inch that the soaked fabric they strain against allows. Grabbing at a nonexistent handful of his still-too-short hair. a palm on his forehead to push his head away does the trick.

I swear, clear my throat, then unmute my headset. Asking the questions I had thankfully typed while the call dragged on into the final scheduled half hour. While they answer I half listen, quickly silencing my line again, barely remembering to check on the team’s status. They’re fine, things are nearly done, and someone’s making meeting minutes of the call…

Clenching my muscles around his fingertips while guiding his mouth back into place, it’s the moan that leaves my throat that sends him diving back in with all the skills he has. All those little tricks he's learned about me, and a hunger to drive me out of my mind that is unmatched by anything but my need for the same.

My one hand shakes as I type the command to transfer the last set of files for the team, closing out those windows with a hunt and pecked note of, 'All there w/ these. G2G.'

When my nails digging into his scalp doesn't stop him, not helped I'm sure by my inability to catch my breath, I have to shift my foot to his thigh and push hard enough that, while he doesn't move, my chair shoves back far enough that he has to readjust his balance rather than just dive forward. With at least his mouth off me I manage to pant out, “Have to talk.” His fingers stop their movements and pull away, meeting my eyes he nods silencing himself as I remove my mute and quickly cover what _hopefully_ is the last thing I need to say in the meeting.

Standing, I pace, carrying the laptop with me and clearing my head enough to not forget anything, I speak the words to Oliver rather than just empty air. It means I have to watch him lick his fingers clean with a mocking rapt attention on my every syllable. His eyes are dark, his cock hard and fisted in his grip as I move to sit on the edge of the bed, computer beside me.

When the actions are under my control, my voice doesn't waiver or hitch as I use my own fingers like he had been, then offer them as glistening 'treats.' He licks his lips and moves gracefully, silently capturing them deep in his mouth. As soon as I’m able to silence my mic again I groan, "God, Oliver, you look irresistible like that." His body is bare and ready and I manage to feel overdressed.

He smiles, tonguing between my fingers before releasing them, "You're one to talk. How much longer?"

"Wrapping up now, five minutes max.”

"Can I-?" His eyes move down to my covered parts.

I hook my thumbs in the sides of my underwear and drag the unwanted barrier down to my thighs, spreading my legs.

He stops talking and tugs them off the rest of the way, fully exposing me to his attention.

It actually takes seven minutes to hang up, his mouth sealed to me the entire time, pulling sparks of need across my nerves as I rock my hips, trying to get him impossibly closer. With a groan I close the laptop lid, shoving it under a pillow and tossing the headset away while I scramble backwards, out of his reach.

He protests with a disjointed, “But you haven’t- I want to- Just another- Felicity, please let me-“ as he tries to steal more licks and sucks of my body.

I love him, and while _he_ may be fine making his knees ache needlessly tomorrow, _I_ am not. We both want his mouth on me but if he wants to take his time then he can lay on his belly rather than kneel. “Up here. Be comfortable."

It doesn't take another word to convince him.

…

My legs are still quivering as he crawls up my body, breathing smugly pleased noises across my skin. Oliver presses wet, messy kisses in a pattern up my belly, soft and searching in contrast to the hard press of him against my thigh that only shifts as I writhe. “Oliver please!”

His hand reaches for and cradles my face as he kisses the underside of my breast, licking the curve until he nuzzles under my arm where it is both ticklish and sensitive.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pressing my heels in to try and coax him up, instead each nipple gets achingly thorough attention until I gasp out that if he doesn't quit the teasing I'm going to come again without him filling me and that will leave me _very_ disappointed.

His body bends, shifts, mouth dropping open as he pushes forward, gliding in to fill me. I nudge my nose against his and he moans out how good it feels.

I don't last long, giving him the loud appreciation all his work deserves and he’s proven time and again that he loves to hear. He rides it out, kissing me until my lips ache, his thrusts getting off pace as his muscles tense.

A husky moan into his ear, "I can taste myself on you," and that control breaks. He shudders, gasping a mix of nonsense sounds and something oh so similar to my name. I’ve been learning the tricks for him too, so I plead for more, to keep going, to moan it louder, to press into me harder. And it works beautifully. He gives everything he can as I feel his release pulse into me.

Gasping for air when it's too much, he drags himself from me, rolling onto his back. I kiss over his heart once when he tries to wrap me in a loose embrace, but shift down to lean over and lick the tip of him.

The noise that escapes from him is nearly pained. His hands fall into my hair as he gently tries to pull me off when I do it again. "I...I can't. Felicity, I need a...can't come again that fast"

"Not asking you to. Just watch." I use two circled fingers to lift him, still hard, shiny with the mix of us that isn't slipping and smearing down my thighs. His eyes meet mine, then when I squeeze lightly watch as asked. "I want you to remember this. Remember it next time I lick my lips." I flick my tongue around the spongy head and humm a vibration into the action. “Remember it the next time you _take matters into your own hands_. Remember-“

"Can't...please..."

"I'm not asking _you_ to lick _me_ clean-" his hips buck, barely, but with my hand and face right there it is clear as glass. _Or maybe I should? He wouldn't be the first boyfriend who wanted me to sit on his face after, at least once or twice. But that one had a seriously repressed submissive kink he was discovering in my only devil's threesome. Halt. Stop. Focus on the man in your grip!_ "Just watch, please?"

He does, not going fully soft until the end, with many hushed gasps and moans in the mix.

...

As we lay there, one hunger fully sated, reluctant to make the required movement in order to get the food ready, I decide to broach a topic that has been brought up in the past three meetings. "Hey-"

"Hey." He pulls me just that littlest bit closer and touches his lips to my hair as if an instinct.

"Hey.” I give a breath of a laugh while leaning into the touch. “We need to head back into the contiguous U.S. soon."

I hear the question in just the fast intake of breath, "Not Starli-Star City." The new name is familiar but strange and still doesn’t roll easily off my tongue while my fingers type out what would be 'no' if his chest were a keyboard. " _They're_ just not happy about the time changes, availability, and the unreliable coverage...” One too many dropped conversations. The tax write off for a home office wouldn’t hurt me either with the bracket I’ll be in without any big deductions… “And I'd like to _not_ live out of a suitcase for a bit."

His eyes are happy and I can practically hear his thoughts focusing on the ‘home’ part of that statement.

“There’s this place, Ivy Town, that I was thinking might be a good place to look.”

“Ivy Town?”

“Yeah, a great little piece of suburbia, someone told me about once.” _Ray. Ray grew up there. He poured a sizable chunk of money upgrading the town’s infrastructure after each business success, because he was always such a friggin’ optimist and generous soul._ I hide the dip of sadness my emotions take, cover with a couple of the easiest features I can sell with, fresh in my mind from casually searching over the past week, “Lots of trees, high speed internet run city wide, good transportation options.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Just that easily the decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter - the second part of this dip into the past, Ivy Town centric. House hunting, the neighborhood welcome, the big Ivy Town fight, Something-New Sundays, and anything else I'm forgetting before we go back to the 'Present.'


End file.
